


Unbecoming

by Slash_addict



Series: Burning Bridges [1]
Category: DCU
Genre: F/M, M/M, READ MY WARNINGS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slash_addict/pseuds/Slash_addict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The revolving door that is Arkham Asylum is a non-issue but when someone shows up and starts trying to fix things the Bat crew doesn't know if they should be grateful or on guard. The inmates, on the other hand, are pissed as hell and intend to see that the new Head Director's stay is as short and painful as possible. At the same time, Batman is dealing with the fallout of the JLA revelation of his mind wipe and Robin is attempting to rout a new drug lord that has moved into Gotham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbecoming

**Author's Note:**

> This story will incorporate some of the Batman the animated series but mostly it is founded in the DC Comic universe. If you've never seen the TV show you'll be fine, but if you haven't read the comics, mainly Robin, Teen Titans and JLA you might be a bit confused. This story takes place shortly after it's revealed that the JLA screwed with Batman's mind and the destruction of the Watchtower but before the second Crisis. This is a story arc with four parts. The first being Unbecoming, the second Shades of Gray, and the rest to follow. It should also be noted that in my Universe Robin did not go to live in Bludhaven after the death of his father. There is a bit of het in this chapter, there won’t be any to follow. All of the slash (and there is quite a bit) will show up in Shades of Gray and on. It takes a while to get to the action between Batman and Joker, but we will get there I promise, the story is finished. Initially this story is Original Character heavy, if you don't like that don't read it. 
> 
> Finally **I am dyslexic** I do not have a beta, I do not want a beta. I do this for fun. I have done my level best to find all the mistakes but there will be many that I didn't fine. Please don't write to tell me I have spelling errors. I know I do, but I do this for fun, if you don't like it DON'T READ IT.
> 
> communication through chat over a computer, radio, or phone looks like this :: talking::
> 
>  
> 
> (Edited and re-posted 3/17/2014)

 

 

Unbecoming:  
Chapter one

The Joker staggered down the alley clutching at the stabbing pain in his side. Misjudging the turn he slammed into the wall, gasped and sank slowly to the ground. After a few moments he forced himself to crawl towards the nearest shadow, fighting down the nausea that swamped him. As he shifted so that his back was against the slimy brick building his vision began to tunnel and he shook his head trying to clear it.  
   
Not quite how he’d planned to spend his evening. The Joker listened intently trying to see if Bats had managed to follow him. With all the noise he'd been making he wouldn't be surprised, but over the sound of his labored breathing he heard nothing but the distant reverberation of passing cars and the spattered sounds of gunfire. Finally, convinced that he'd not been followed, he allowed himself to relax. He tried to move so that he could ease the throbbing in his side but another paroxysm of pain ripped through him making lights dance before his eyes and darkness threaten once again so he gave up and instead concentrated on not blacking out. God, he almost wished Bats would find him, at least then he could get someone to look at his side. Definitely not how he planned to spend the evening he thought sourly.

  
* * *

Miriam fell to her knees in the soft mud of the delta and stared unseeing into the pouring rain.  Lightening arched jaggedly through the darkened sky and trees groaned as they were ripped from the earth and tossed away. She had yet to register the blood soaking into her clothes, dripping from her hands, her face, her chest, her hair. She felt numb. Shock, she thought distantly but the cause of which she couldn't recall. She shook her head sharply, there had been something, something important . . . but it was gone now, drowned out by the screaming. She tried to cover her ears, the gore from her hands matting her streaming hair, but the screaming was still there. It wouldn't go away.  She bent double, trying to hide from the sound, her body shaking with suppressed sobs.   She fought for clarity . . . she had to . . . there was  _something_  . . . she threw back her head and screamed.  
   
* * *  
   
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"  
   
Tim Drake stared at the question on the black bored. Tapping his pencil on his as of yet blank piece of paper he considered the question. What the hell  _did_  he want to be when he grew up? Not Batman. Did he want to be Robin for the rest of his life? He didn't have a ready answer to that, and, presumably, that was answer in and of it self. Dick hadn't stayed Robin. Of course much of that was due to his parting of ways with Bruce, but then again there was only so long that one could stay the "boy wonder." Eventually one had to grow up. And choose a profession that didn’t involve vaulting from roof tops while wearing Kevlar and a cape.  Tim's rumination was interrupted by the sound of his teacher's voice.  
   
"Class, if I could have your attention for the moment?"  
   
Tim glanced up and then did a double take, along with the rest of the male population of the room, and several of the girls. His teacher continued, "I'd like all of you to welcome our newest student, Miriam O’Connell. She's transferred here from . . ." the teacher hesitated for a moment and glanced at the girl at her side, "where was it again, dear?"  
   
"Wales." The girl clutched at the leather satchel slung on one shoulder.  Her voice was low and sweet, her accent thick enough to make the teacher take a moment to understand.  
   
"Yes, Wales. I'm sure that all of you will make her feel welcome."  
   
Directly in front of Tim a boy snicker, "Fuck yeah I will. Damn, dude look at those tits." An answering snicker followed and Tim rolled his eyes. Still, he could understand, the girl was attractive with black hair framing a heart shaped face, and yes she was clearly well endowed but, at least in Tim's opinion, the tattoos swirling down her arms and the clunky combat boots lessened her appeal.  
   
The teacher gestured for Miriam to take a seat and instructed the class to continue with their essays. Dark green eyes searched the room until she spotted and took an empty seat not far from Tim.  Pulling out a notebook from a battered bag to begin work on the assignment with the rest of the class she glanced up at the board and her face darkened, full lips pinching into an unhappy line. She shook her head minutely and then began to work.   Intrigued, Tim watched her for a few minutes more – happy to put off returning to his essay as he wondered what issues troubled the newest addition to the class.

* 

With class over Tim took a seat on the grass quad outside, pulling out his trig homework and surreptitiously watching the rest of the student body. Oracle had picked up a rumor about a drug ring that was being aided, if not run by, one of the students at his school and Tim intended to have a word with the young entrepreneur.   Unfortunately, Ronnie Downs, the one boy that Tim was sure must be involved, seemed to have other ideas as he had yet to put in an appearance. Tim was about to change to another location when he heard a thump next to him and turned to find Miriam watching him with a speculative look on her face. Surprise made Tim's response a bit harsher than he'd meant it to be.  
   
"What?"  
   
Miriam, however, didn't seem to mind; she smiled slightly. "Does this school have wireless Internet access?"  
   
Tim blinked.  Running through the sentence a few times until he’d managed to work out what she’d said.  "Oh, yeah, but its spotty anywhere else but in the library."  
   
"Wonderful." She moved as if to rise and then turned back to him with a sheepish look on her face. "and, where exactly is the library?"  
   
Tim returned the smile. "I'll show you.  Otherwise you'll never find it." And it would take him closer to Ronnie's other hang out.  
   
"A hidden library at a school, fascinating." Miriam drawled  
   
Tim nodded as he stepped around a couple making out on the green, "We wouldn't want learning to get in the way of the students social lives, now would we?"  
   
Miriam flashed a grin at the boy as he tried to look up her skirt, his girlfriend squawking in protest. She chuckled. "No, I suppose not."  
   
"So, have you been in Gotham long?" Tim asked as they headed down the hallway.  
   
"Uh, no. I've only just got here actually. It's . . ." Miriam trailed off.  
   
"Scary as hell?"  
   
Miriam laughed, "Happily the concept of Hell is one I've only learned about rather recently, so I'm not an expert but on balance I'd have to say no. There not being, um, brimstone I think it was, strewn about all over the place.  For some reason that seems to be rather important.”  Her face grew serious.  “But it is . . . unsettling. Everyone here seems so . . .” She cast about for a word. “Desperate. Lost."  
   
Tim nodded, and after a moment asked, "What do you mean you've only just learned about the concept of hell?"  
   
"Well, I come from a small . . ." she hesitated, "Where I'm from we don’t have Christianity." She smiled, "I didn't learn about it until, oh, about a year or so ago."  
   
"Really?" Tim frowned, trying to think of anywhere in the British Isles that wouldn’t have knowledge of Christianity.  
   
"Yes."

 Tim wanted to ask more but they’d reached the library.  Miriam looked relieved at the reprieve, which only made Tim that much more suspicious, and then he realized what he was doing and shook his head she was most probably just be making it up for the sake of sounding mysterious.  He rolled his eyes at himself, not _everything_ has to be a mystery Drake, he chided himself.

"Thanks for showing me the way.  You were right, I'd've never found it otherwise." Miriam said a small smile quirking her lips.  
   
"Not a problem. My name's Tim by the way, Tim Drake. If you need anything else let me know."  
   
"Thanks."  
   
* * *  
_  
"I wish you wouldn’t do this."  
   
Oh, not again  
   
The Joker looked at the woman, her eyes bright with unshed tears and blinked, "No . . .I . . ."  What the hell?  
   
"Please, there has to be another way.” The woman pleaded, “We could leave Gotham . . .or— there must be something!"  
   
Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP  
   
Leave Gotham? He couldn't leave Gotham, it was, well there was a reason, he just couldn't think of it right now. Revenge. Yeah, that was it, revenge.  
   
The Joker focused on her swelling belly, a boy, he though suddenly, but couldn't think why.  
   
"_ _Please_ _." She begged.  
   
There was shift and suddenly he stood over a hissing vat of acid.  
   
Oh God, not again, please!  
   
The rising vapor from the vat made his eyes water. He could hear the sounds of gun fire in the distance. He should leave, things had gone wrong. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Then he was falling, the acid was rushing closer, and he was screaming . . .  
_    
The Joker jerked awake, the pain that tore through his side a welcome distraction. The dream faded quickly, as it always did, leaving nothing but the ghost of a memory of a woman with blond hair and sad eyes— and a feeling of unease.  
   
"Harley?"  
   
"Afraid not Joker."  
   
"Ah, Bats. I was wondering when you were going to show up." The Joker shifted against the wall, his side screaming in protest. He sighed. "Could you knock me out before you pick me up? Otherwise I think I'm going to throw up all over your lovely cape."  
   
Because of the cowl the Joker couldn't see Batman blink in surprise, but he kept it out of his voice. "Keep your hands where I can see them."  
   
"SurethingBats." The Joker's voice was slurred with pain.  
   
Still, Batman approached cautiously, knowing that the Joker could be a very convincing actor when he chose, but, upon closer inspection the bloody mess that had once been the Joker's side belied any mendacity on the Joker's part. Batman picked him up carefully, but the Joker still hissed in pain as Batman carried him to the Batmobile. Once he had him belted in he jumped into the driver's seat.  
   
"What happened?"  He demanded as he put the car in gear.  
   
"Hmm,” The Joker glanced up, his eyes glazed with pain, “oh, you know how it is.” he waved a hand vaguely and winced, “Man about town.  Things to do.”

“What happened?”  Batman growled.

The Joker sniffed disdainfully, “I don't know actually."  
   
"You don't know?" Batman's voice was cold and incredulous.  
   
"No," the Joker snapped. "I don't know. I think I blacked out. It happens.  Deal with it."  
   
Batman let the conversation go, and turned toward Arkham.  
   
* * *  
   
Oracle wheeled up to the computer screen and froze. Her screen saver had been changed; it now read "C e-mail" bouncing merrily back and forth across the blackened screen. She hoped that it was just some prank by Tim or Dick, but she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she opened and scanned her e-mail that her system had been compromised. She couldn't even think of all the problems that that would cause. She saw the e-mail immediately, "C inside."  
   
Dear Oracle,  
   
Congratulations! You've been hacked. Pause for obligatory moment of panic.  Done?  I've not actually done anything beyond what you’ve seen. I just wanted to let you know that if I can get it, so can someone else. Eventually. And thus it would seem that you have a bit of a security problem, yes? So I'm here to offer my not inconsiderable services to make sure that your system becomes and stays impenetrable.  I belong to the show not tell school of thought, better than an interview right? This is not blackmail, by the way. If you don't want my assistance I'll go somewhere else and you'll never hear from me again. I won't tell anyone how I got in, but I did get in. So in other words if you don't get help from me, do get it from somewhere. If you're interested in retaining my service simply reply to the e-mail.

 

Sincerely,

A concerned Citizen

  
   
Oracle sighed, she should tell Batman. But the idea of telling Bruce that her system had been breached was extraordinarily unappealing. She reread the e-mail and considered, and then went through her systems meticulously, looking for anything that had been disturbed or altered. She could find nothing, none of the highly protected files seemed to have been accessed, but that didn't mean they hadn't been. And while she didn't keep anything on the computer that would indicate anyone's true identity, it was still very, very unsettling. Whoever this person was he, or she, was dangerous.  

Replying to the e-mail would be insane. She didn't know who this person was; it could be Lex Luthor for all she knew. But she was interested to see what he could do. Hacking into her system was damn near impossible, or so she'd thought. A test was in order. Talent like this should not go unpunished. She smiled grimly and began dismantling her own system slowly, moving all of the pertinent information to a secure location not connected to the Internet. It would be a nuisance but a necessary one. Once she had secured everything that she couldn't afford to be seen by an outsider; she'd give him a test drive and see what he could do.  
   
* * *  
   
Black gloved hands scrabbled eagerly over the keyboard. This was it,  _this_  would be the answer.  
   
"And you are sure this is going to work?" The voice was cold and arrogant, used to being obeyed.  
   
"Yes, it'll work."  
   
"Very well. Time table?"  
   
"To infiltrate everything,” gloved hands caressed the disk lovingly, “one year, maybe longer."  
   
"Fine. Get it done."  
   
* * *  
Robin took the binoculars away from his eyes and shifted on the ledge trying to get more comfortable. It had been drizzling rain on and off for the last hour, he was thoroughly drenched and his irritation at a wasted night was beginning to burn through his patience.  
He'd followed Robbie Downs to this rundown warehouse about three hours ago; it seemed that the drug ring was slightly more elaborate than they had first anticipated but unfortunately Downs seemed to be nothing more than an errand boy. He'd arrived and left about 20 twenty times in the last few hours. Robin had tailed him a number of those times, but the most exciting action Downs had seen was the inside of the pizza pallor and a dry cleaners.  

Robin finally decided to abandon the stake-out for a closer look. The warehouse appeared discouragingly empty; there was no sign of inhabitants anywhere, which meant that this was either a decoy through which Downs passed to throw off a tail, or that the action was taking place underground. Either way, Robin wasn't going to find out anything more tonight. He'd see if he couldn't plant a bug/homing beacon on Downs tomorrow while they were both at school and hopefully it would prove more fruitful.  
   
*  
Tim sat on the green the next day waiting for Downs to make his appearance, when the sound of a familiar accent caused him to glance up.  
   
"Mornin’," Miriam said as she plopped down next to him. She pulled a newspaper out of her bag and glanced over the headlines. "Tim?"  
   
"Yes?"  
   
"What's a Clayface?"  
   
Tim's head jerked around, he glanced at the headline of the paper that she was holding and cursed inwardly. Apparently while he'd been watching at a potentially empty warehouse all evening, Clayface had made an escape from Arkham. Again. Great.  
   
"He's . . ." Tim hesitated. "Well, he was an actor. Unfortunately for him he ended up on the wrong end of an experimental medical treatment created by Roland Dagget."  
   
"What kind of medical experiment?"  
   
"Dagget invented a cream that was something like plastic surgery in a tube. But it was highly addictive and when used in large enough doses," Tim gestured towards the picture in the paper, "it had pretty disastrous side effects."  
   
Miriam glanced again at the picture, frowning, "That's . . . that's awful. Poor man. So what's Arkham, then, some type of medical facility?"  
   
"You haven't heard of Arkham?" A voice from behind Miriam drawled. "Jesus, I'd though they'd started putting it on the tourist brochures."  
   
Miriam and Tim glanced up. "Hello Paul." Tim offered. Paul Harvey, the quarterback of the football team, and all-American Joe, made himself at home next to them, giving Miriam his best cheerleader melting smile. She smiled in return.

“Hi,” he said extending a hand, “Paul, nice to meet you.”

“Cheers.”  Miriam returned.

“So,” Paul asked, leaning toward her conspiratorially, “you really haven’t heard about Arkham?”  
   
"Nope. I have only been here a fortnight."  
   
"Uh," Paul blinked, “For those of us that don’t speak British, is that very long?”

Miriam laughed, “It means two weeks, more or less.”

“Ah.” He nodded sagely. "Well that explains it then. Arkham is the land of the freaks, and the weirdos. It's where the Batman dumps the super villain nutjobs that continually run around and make our lives here in Gotham so very, very interesting."  
   
"The Batman?"  
   
"You haven't heard of Batman?" Paul feigned shocked outrage. "What do they teach kids these days?"  
   
"Paul," Tim interrupted, sounding exasperated, "don't start filling her head with that nonsense."  
   
"It's not nonsense, Timmy boy, its cold hard fact. I've got a friend of a friend who swears on his grandmother's grave that he's seen the Bat himself." Paul turned back to Miriam, putting his arm in front of his face, Dracula style. "The Batman is this guy who dresses up like a giant bat, right, and runs around on roof tops, catching the bad guys," Paul mimed catching the bad guy, "and making the world safe for kiddies like you and me."  
   
"Miriam don't listen to him, there is no proof that anyone like the Batman even exists. It's nothing but Gotham's version of the Loch Ness monster."  
   
Miriam ginned wickedly. "But I believe in the Loch Ness monster."  
   
Paul whooped, "There you go, another kindred spirit."  
   
Tim rolled his eyes. "You're both hopeless."  
   
"So, Miriam, can I interest you in a tour of the school grounds, mmm? I've got to run by Dr. Pagon's room but I could meet you in say, fifteen minutes outside the chemistry building. I promise a tour that shall inspire and delight." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Miriam laughed.  
   
"Fifteen minutes, it's a date."  
   
After he'd gone Tim turned to Miriam and frowned, "You should be careful with him, he's . . . well let's just say he's not really interested in giving you a tour of the school."  
   
Miriam grinned. "Works for me, I’m not much interested in seein’ it."  
   
"Miriam,” Tim pressed, “he goes through girls the way some people go through spare change. He's just using you. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt."  
   
Miriam blinked and then started laughing and seemed unable to stop. Clutching at her sides she tried to draw breath to respond and broke into another round of laughter. Finally, wiping her streaming eyes, she replied, "That is . . . ha, ooo thank you, I haven't laughed like that in . . . that is such a…an American thing to say." She chuckled, "Ah bless you, but it does takes two, you know? He cannae be using me anymore than I'm using him. But thank you for your concern. It's very sweet."  
   
Tim shrugged looking unconvinced. "As long as you're sure. I've seen a lot of girls get hurt by him."  
   
"Well they probably went into it without a clear understanding of what they wanted and what he wanted. I know what I want, and I'll be getting it in” she glanced at her watch, “about ten minute’s time."  
   
*  
Paul waited impatiently outside the science building; he still couldn't believe that she’d agreed to meet him here. When Jeff had said she was easy he hadn't believed it. Most punk chicks were all about proving how butch they were, and not putting out seemed to be a general theme. But Jeff had assured him that she all but pulled him into the janitor's closet when he'd made the suggestion, studded collar and jack boots notwithstanding. His thoughts kept drifting back to her amazing rack; damn she had to be what a double D? And her ass . . . and those legs. Fuck this was gonna be fun. He hoped that she'd let him fuck her, he bet she was wild. His train of thought was interrupted by Miriam's arrival; he glanced once again over her amazing tits and grinned.  
   
She looked around. "I hope that this tour includes somewhere a bit more private."  
   
Paul's cock jumped, fuck yes, Jeff had been so right. He grinned. "I was thinking the bleachers." He gestured in the general direction of the stadium. She returned his smile and started in the direction, he followed after watching her ass as she moved. It was just too good to be true; he'd never met a girl that gave it up this fast. Damn. 'Course she might be all show – get her there and they'd make out for while and then she'd leave. Not what Jeff had said, but he'd been wrong in the past.  
   
Once they reached the bleachers Paul led her underneath to a place that was out of general view. Finally he grabbed her and pulled her down on top of him. She laughed but didn't move to pull away. He was so horny at this point he didn't know how much foreplay he could take; considering that they didn't have that much time he opted for the direct approach, it would at least let him know just what she was willing to permit, in any event. He slid his hands up her skirt and began tugging her underwear off. She shifted so that he could get it clear and then stood up to work it over her boots so that it dropped to the ground.  
   
"Fuck yes, take your shirt off."  
   
She smiled and complied, removing first her tie and then the shirt, her breasts seeming even bigger in her black lace bra. He gestured for her to come back and as she turned to place the shirt on the ground he did a double take at the sight of the huge sprawling tattoo that took up the entirety of her back, it wrapped around to her sides, over her shoulders and down her arms. It even circled under her breasts.  
   
"Fuck! That had to hurt."  
   
She glanced up at him quizzically, "What did?"  
   
"The tattoo."  
   
"Oh, no not really, I was pretty high at the time."  
   
"No shit?" His train of thought was derailed, however, as she straddled him again, working his pants open even as he undid her bra, spilling her breasts out into the afternoon light. He ran his thumb over the curve of the tattoo where it disappeared under the curve of her breast. Then he grabbed one of them and she moaned softly, neck arching as she finished unzipping his pants. She reached in and freed his dick from his boxers, and it was his turn to moan.  
   
"Mmm." She shifted so that he had better access and he shoved up into her. He was attempting to go slowly but as he was enfolded by the wet heat he lost what little control that he had left.  He bucked up into her, rocking hard as she rode him expertly, he rolled her over so that he had her pinned to the ground and started slamming into her and she arched up moaning quietly as he pounded away.  He knew that he wouldn't last long and he didn't even fucking care. This was amazing, this was spectacular. Below him she was still making soft little moaning noises that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet of the stadium. He felt her clench around him and he went over the edge, muffling a shout in her shoulder. She was smiling at him as they both came down off the high, and he felt it safe to ask, "Good?"  
   
"Mmm, it could have a lasted a bit longer, but other than that, aye, very nice."  
   
He tried for indignation but couldn't work up the irritation while still flooded by the happy splash of endorphins. "Just means we'll have to keep practicing."  
   
She laughed, "We'll see."

* * *  
   
The Joker blinked sleepily, how had he ended up back at Arkham? He moved to try and see the clock in the hall and his side began to ache dully. Through the haze of painkillers memory stirred. That's right, Shoot out. Bats. Hospital. Drugs. Got it. He groaned as he tried to stand up. That was the last time that he was going to do Harvey any favors, the gruesome twosome nearly got him killed. Damn but he hurt.  
   
"Hey Puddin', how ya feelin'?"  
   
"How do you think I'm feeling woman?! I got shot in the side!"  
   
"Now Puddin' there's no need to be that way. I was worried 'bout ya."  
   
The Joker waved in her general direction. "Whatever, just leave me alone. I'm trying think of how I'm going to kill Dent."  
   
"Now that sounds like something that I could appreciate. Why this sudden interest in Harvey's mortality?"  
   
The Joker glanced over at where Poison Ivy was leaning against the glass front of her cell.

"None of your business Plant Lady." 

The three of them grew quiet at the sound of approaching orderlies making the rounds.  One of the orderlies, a short, dark haired man with an impressive mustache asked, "Did you hear? Clayface escaped last night." 

The taller blond man at his side snorted, "So what else is new? How long before you think Batman drops him off?"  
   
"Week, two at the most."  Mustache answered.   

The voices trailed off as the two moved further down the corridor, the Joker turned back toward Harley. "When did that happen?"  
   
"Last night 'round two, one of the new guards put him in a cell with a drain."  
   
"Morons."  
   
Ivy laughed, "I wouldn't complain if I were you, darling, how else would we managed to see sunlight?"  
   
"Plant lady, not all of us are as obsessed with sunlight as you are.”  The Joker turned back toward Harley, “So who's going next?"  
   
"I think Dr. Crane said that he had somethin' planned. Ya want me ta ask around?"  
   
"Spooky?”  The Joker scoffed, “What a waste of space."  
   
"I like Dr. Crane."  Harley defended.  
   
"You would. What about you, plant lady, you planning anything?"  
   
"As if I'd tell you."  
   
"Now Red, you ’member what happened last time we didn't tell each other what we were doin.' We ended up running into each other and we all got caught."  
   
Ivy made a face. "True. So I will say this, yes, I'm planning something. I've not finalized anything yet and when I do," she smiled nastily at the Joker, "I'll let Dr. Crane know."  
   
The Joker shrugged and then wished he hadn't. He knew that he wouldn't be going anywhere for a bit and resigned himself to bad food and boredom. He hated Arkham, not just because he was locked up and upon occasion the guards liked to take liberties – though that had stopped pretty quickly once he started killing them when he escaped – but there was nothing to do. It was the boredom more than anything else that made him hurt. Sitting still was a bad idea. It bred time for thinking.  
 

Unbecoming:  
Chapter Two  
 

Ronnie Downs looked up at the muttered exclamation. "Problem Drake?"  
   
Tim looked over and held up an open a can of soda. "Wrong kind, wasn't paying attention."  
   
Ronnie laughed. "So what else is new? If you don't want it, give it here, I'll drink it."  
   
Tim smiled inwardly, couldn't have gone better if he'd scripted it himself. "Sure."  
   
Ronnie waved him off as he sipped the drink and looked back at his homework. The tracer that Tim had put in the soda would last for 72 hours, more than enough time to track him. Grinning, he started to walk out when he spotted Miriam hunched over her lap top. She was wearing a tank top and Tim blinked in surprise at the sprawl of tattoos that covered the exposed flesh.  They looked tribal, truly tribal, rather than the generic "tribal" that was favored in tattoo parlors everywhere and his curiosity inched up another notch. As he walked over to say 'hi,' her head snapped up and the expression on her face made him take a step back.  
   
"Why doesn't anyone help these poor people?" She demanded angrily waving at the screen.  
   
Tim glanced at the screen. "Arkham: History of the Last 10 Years." Oh, _those_ people. Tim shook his head. "They try. Miriam, you have to understand that the people at Arkham are not, well, normal."  
   
"So that's reason enough to write them off is it?"  
   
"No, no one is writing them off, they have very good doctors there-"  
   
"No, no they  _do not_ have good doctors there." Looking back at the screen she paged back to an article detailing the medical expertise of the Arkham staff. "I've been looking over the histories and the only doctors they have there now are people so hopeless they couldn't find their arse with an electronic guiding system. Anyone with a decent IQ and above average medical training took to their heels years ago. And who can blame them?" she continued bitterly. "With all the successful escape attempts they were sitting ducks. What in the Goddess' name is wrong with these people? Who's in charge of security, a twelve year old with a squirt gun?"  
   
Tim blinked at the unexpected vitriol in her voice. "I don't really have an answer for you, Miriam. Unfortunately the revolving door of Arkham is something of a nonevent these days."  
   
"This is . . . it’s awful, these people are being treated like animals. How can the city stand for it?"  
   
"They've done a lot of very terrible things.  I think the people are just glad to have them locked up."  
   
Miriam’s mouth hardened into an angry line.  "Out of sight, out of mind.”  She said darkly. “These people are sick, they need help, not condemnation!"  
   
"I've heard that argument before. And to be honest, I'm not convinced of its merit."  
   
She glared at him angrily. "So in other words they have been written off. And if you mean to tell me that being dropped in a vat of acid doesn't excuse you from . . . how is he even still alive? Goddess, his brain must look like Swiss cheese. And besides it’s not even like they stay locked up for long. Which reminds me, I found your proof about Batman if you're interested."  
   
"Oh?" Tim asked warily, he'd have to tell Bruce.  
   
"Aye, there’s an escape record at Arkham that details when they escaped and how – if the idiots can figure it out. They also have a re-interment record. I cross checked the re-internment record with arrest records filed. There are only arrest records for about a third of the re-interments. So whatever you say the police are certainly getting help from somewhere, his choice in clothing notwithstanding.  
   
Damn. "That doesn't mean that Batman is real, they could have a bounty hunter working for them."  
   
She nodded. "Well whatever you call him that is rather what this Bat person is, isn't it? But I didn't see anything on payroll. It could be under the table but they list all the other bounty hunters so there's no reason to- unless they don’t want to let on at how inept their force is. If this Bat peson is among the bounty hunters registered then he's getting stiffed in a big way."  
   
"Why all this sudden interest?" Suspicion stirred – it wasn't like he actually knew anything about Miriam.  
   
"The thing about Clayface has been bothering me since I found it, I felt so badly for him and I… I was wondering what treatments they'd tried. I know a bit about medicine from my mum..." she coughed and redirected her attention toward the screen, "So," she indicated the screen, "I decided to do some research.  One thing led to another." She hunched over in the chair and sighed. "I understand what this Bat person is trying to do, but he's wasting his time."  
   
Tim looked at her sharply but her gaze was on the screen and she didn't notice. "As long as no one is  _treating_  them properly, they'll just keep escaping and the cycle will continue. People will keep getting hurt and nothing will ever change."  
   
Tim tried to think of a way out of the conversation and couldn't. Fortunately Miriam provided one herself. "Sorry." She smiled at him sadly. "I didn't mean to take my anger out on you. I just . . ." She shook her head. "Never mind. On to happier topics. Do you want to go see a film after school?"  
   
Reprieve.  Tim shook his head, "Sorry, I have work after school."  
   
"Your loss then."  Miriam said with a smile.

"What movie were you planning on seeing?"  Tim asked, mostly to be polite, while he followed Downs' progress out of the library.

"Moshpit Bunnies from the Planet Zoom."  
   
Time's head jerked around, "Tell me you're joking."  
   
She grinned. "You should come, it'll be fun! We can throw popcorn at the screen and make fun of the bad acting, which isn’t nearly as much fun without an audience. I've not managed to make any friends here yet other than my niece, and I can't very well bring her."  
   
Tim felt a stab of guilt, he'd been the new kid so often, he knew how awful it could be, "Isn't there anything else you want to see?" Tim asked desperately.  
   
"Nope." 

Tim sighed, "Fine, but it'll have to be right after school gets out, I have work later."

***

"So what do you do on the weekends?" Miriam asked as she slurped her sundae. They were at the Sundae Shoppe on the corner next to the theater. They had just come from the movie, which while extraordinarily bad, had had a certain Mystery Science Theater quality about it that, once Tim had gotten into the spirit of things, had actually made it fun.  
   
"Sorry?"  
   
"The weekends, what do you do? Presumably you do something?"  
   
"Oh, yeah, I commute to an enrichment boarding school."  
   
"Seriously?"  
   
"Yeah, it’s cool, the people there are nice."  
   
"What's it called?"  
   
"Tolliver's School of Excellence."  
   
Miriam considered it. "Interesting. So hanging out this weekend is out of the question then?"  
   
"'Fraid so. Sorry."  
   
"No, no s'ok. It’s not your fault at any rate. I was just . . . well I’ve been kinda bored, like I said, I don't really know anyone around here."  
   
Tim looked at her skeptically. "Um, Miriam, not to be crude or anything but you know a lot of people." At this point half the male population of the school if he was any judge and even some of the girls.  
   
She looked at him in confusion for a moment and then started to laugh, "No, no like that Tim, I’m not asking . . .ha, no I’m- you're not really my type."  
   
In spite of himself Tim felt indignant. "I thought everyone was your type?"  
   
Miriam grinned. "Oh, don't get mad." She leaned across the table and mussed up his hair. Tim resolutely kept his eyes on hers and away from her ample cleavage. "You're not my type because you'd . . . you would form an attachment, aye? I don't do well with commitment. But I don't want to hurt anyone, I just want to have bit of fun, you know? On the other hand, most of the guys at our school are severely lacking when it comes to social graces like chewing with their mouths closed, or, you know, thinking. So no, I’m not trying to get into your pants Drake, I’m just trying to find someone to go to the Gotham History Museum with me this Saturday."  
   
Tim didn't know if he felt relieved or insulted. On balance, probably relieved – he didn't need the complication of a relationship right now—he thought of Conner and Casey and winced. Nope, certainly didn’t need that.

"Tim?"  
   
"What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.  So the Gotham History Museum, huh, what time?"  
   
"I don't know. I don't have any time in particular picked out, not too late though, because I wanted to try and take Tina."  
   
"Who?"  
   
"Tina, my cousin."  
   
"Right, you mentioned her earlier." Tim remarked, reminded yet again that he knew next to nothing about this girl beyond her penchant for random sex and her disgust with Arkham. It was, he realized, exactly what he did, keeping to neutral topics, talking without actually saying anything of importance.  It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye on her.  
   
"Hmm," Miriam slurped up the last of her sundae happily, and then looked momentarily dejected at the sight of the empty glass. "Aye, my cousin, you know daughter of my uncle. Cousin."  
   
Tim rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you. Tell you what, how 'bout we go Friday afternoon?"  
   
"Really? Brilliant! And you don't mind if I bring Tina?"  
   
"No, not at all, I’d like to meet her."  
   
Miriam grinned, "I'll remind you that you said that."  
   
   
* * *  
   
"Well?"  
   
"All of Africa, South and Central America. Most of Southeast Asia. Japan will be tricky. America and Western Europe more so."  
   
"Can you do it?"  
   
A gloved finger traced the line of a gouge in the desk. "The virus does most of the work – it's a spectacular piece of programming – but early detection will cause problems. I'll need to go more slowly now."  
   
"Can you finish by the deadline?" There was no forgiveness in the harsh voice, an incorrect answer promised death.  
   
The owner of the gloved hands hesitated for only a moment. "Yes."  
   
"Good."  
   
* * *  
   
Robin watched the blip on his screen with satisfaction. He'd been right, the warehouse was the entrance to a maze of underground tunnels, but his blinking dot had led him without error through the maze and into the main room which was filled with crates and boxes stacked head-high in some places.  A quick inspection of one confirmed their contents as a shocking amount of cocaine and heroin, and in the corner of the room a meth lab had been set up. Apparently the drug ring was much more complicated than they'd first anticipated. Robin had done a quick sweep of the room but hadn't encountered anyone. The dot showed that Ronnie was in one of the back rooms and stationary. Robin guessed that this was where the rest of the members were as well. He ghosted along the final tunnel, placing his ear to the door.  
   
"You call this coffee, Jed? I got shoes that taste better'n this."  He deep voice, thick with a south Gotham accent rumbled.  
   
"Den eat yer shoes.” A voice, presumably Jed, growled back.  Fuck off brat."  
   
"Sorry Mr. Malic." That was Ronnie’s voice.  
   
Another voice, neither the original speaker nor Jed, asked, "how many you got?"  This voice was lighter, a baritone where the others were rumbling bass, but it too had the sound of the south side Gotham docks.  
   
"Three pair." Replied the voice that had original addressed Jed.  
   
"Fuck."  The baritone muttered.  
   
So four including Ronnie, assuming that there weren't others that were just keeping quiet. Robin retraced his steps, locating the power cable that he'd marked out earlier.  He placed blasting putty and a detonator on the capble and then ghosted back to the door.  He closed his eyes, switching to infrared; giving his eyes a moment to adjust and then blew the cable.  
   
"Wha--

Robin slammed through the door as the lights went out; he did a sweep of the room. Two at a card table, Ronnie in the corner, another by the wall at the coffee pot. Two more that had been guarding the back door. Moving quickly, he slammed the heads of the two card players into the table, the sickening crunch as bone collided with wood accompanied by a shrill shout assured him that they were down for the moment. Ignoring Robbie he snapped off a couple of R's disarming the two men by the door. He turned back to the other man that had been by the coffee pot, sweeping his legs out from under him he dropped him heavily slamming his head down against the cement floor he jabbed at a nerve cluster that would insure that he stayed down. He vaulted back towards the two at the back door that he had already disarmed, kicking one in the solar plexus; he pulled out his grapple and nailed the other to the wall.  The two from the table had shoved back and out of their chairs, blood pouring from their noses, blind in the dark they stumbled toward him.  The guard that Robin had kicked in the stomach was trying to rise, he snapped off a kick to the man’s hip, sending him back to the floor howling as he went.  Robin turned, grabbed up one of the poker chairs and brought it down on the head and back of the closest poker player.  The man went down with a shout and then lay still, the second man tripped over him and went sprawling, slamming into the floor, winding him.  Robin put his booted foot on the man’s neck, grabbed up his hands and bound them together then roped them to his feet.

"--at the fuck." Ronnie shouted.  
   
Robin moved back to the man he'd pinned to the wall—one of the men that had originally been guarding the back door. Ronnie ran over to the man by the coffee pot who now lay on the floor wheezing fitfully. Robin turned his attention back to his soon to be informant.  
   
"I want information."  
   
"Go to hell."  The man spat, struggling against his restraints.  
   
Robin grabbed the man's shirt and slammed his head back against the wall. "Wrong answer."  
   
The man grunted in pain as his head made contact with the wall. "I want to know who's running the ring, I want names." Robin demanded.  
   
"Fuck off batboy." The man hissed, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth.  
   
Ah, insults and unoriginal at that. Robin slid his hand along the man's side until he found the nerve cluster that he was looking for and slammed his fist into it.  
   
The man screamed in pain and, had he been able, would have doubled over, as it was he hung limply in the restraints, breathing erratic.  
   
"I can keep this up all night pal, and in the end you'll tell me, one way or the other. Why not make it easier on yourself?"  
   
"Leave him alone!" A voice shouted desperately.  
   
The sound of heavy running feet preceded the strike and Robin caught the punch easily, twisted and heard Ronnie’s arm snap. Ronnie went down, howling in pain, curing up in a tight sobbing ball around his broken arm. Robin turned back, and slammed his fist once more into the man’s side.  
   
"RUBIN . . .Rubin McAlister." The man screamed.

“Fuck you Mike, now we’re all fucking dead!” the hog tied man on the floor screamed.  
   
Robin adjusted his hold with the other hand putting more pressure on the already screaming nerve center, "And where is Mr. McAlister?"  
   
"Oh, God! Me . .meeting with buyer. Sixth St. _Fuck_! _Stop_!"  
   
Robin released his hold and knocked the man unconscious. He turned to where Ronnie was sobbing on the floor, dragged him over to the table and cuffed him by his good arm. He searched the room to make sure that there were no hidden alarms that might have been tripped and then did one more sweep of the warehouse.  
   
Robing tapped his earpiece,  <Oracle?>  
   
<Oracle here>  
   
<I've found the ring, and need clean up. I'm uploading my location now.>  
   
<Status?>  
   
<Minimal damage. I'm heading to 6th street.>  
   
<Copy>  
   
* * *  
<<you've redecorated since I’ve been here>>  
   
Oracle snorted, continuing to monitor the police's progress on the information she had relayed from Robin. Her mystery hacker, no doubt, was watching the entire exchange.  
   
Oracle turned back to the primary system, <<This is a test run. >> She responded ignoring the banter, <<I’ve set up a virus in the system. I want you to extract it and then undo the damage that it caused. You have 15 minutes. >>  
   
<<done>>  
   
<<funny>>  
   
<<look for yourself>>  
   
Oracle scanned through her system. It wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible. The virus, one of the most dangerous that she could find had been isolated in less than sixty seconds. The damage, which was negligible, had been repaired flawlessly. Oracle’s heart sank, if this guy had been in the high security files there was no way she would ever know.  
   
<<alright who are you?>>  
   
<<That would be telling. I should think that you, of all people, would recognize the need for discretion.>>  
   
<<what’s that supposed to mean?>>  
   
<So do you wish for me to continue monitoring your system? If so, then we need to speak about cost.>  
   
<<I can't trust you.>>  
   
<<I suppose it’s not paranoia if they are all really out to get you.  Look, will this help? I give you my word that I won't steal your secrets and sell them on eBay.> > Oracle could feel the sarcasm dripping off each word. <<The fact of the matter is, I don't need your secrets. I've got plenty of other clients with secrets far more damning than yours. Besides, blackmail is messy and time consuming. I'd rather stick to what I'm good at.>>  
   
Oracle considered, this needed watching. <<how much?>>  
   
<<Now we’re talking>>  
   
* * *  
   
Robin's bike squealed to a stop just out of range of the drop site. He swept the area carefully, easily spotting the man who must be McAlister standing under the street light on the corner of 6th and Tanger. He was tall, probably taller than Bruce and, unlike most drug lords, hadn’t let himself go. He was well muscled, easily the same weight and size of the two body guards that flanked him, his face half hidden by a well-kept goatee.  
   
Robin moved closer, needing to be able to hear the conversation so that he could get it on tape. On the way he'd relayed his plan to Oracle, acknowledging that there were police units on the way. If they were lucky, they would managed to bust up the entire ring tonight. As he moved closer he began to pick up bits of the conversation between one of the guards and McAlister.  
   
" . .time that we agreed."  
   
" . . .like it, . . .open . . . .you sure?"  
   
The other guard was on a cell phone, he seemed to be frowning. When he hung up he called to McAlister, “I can’t get Trent to answer.”

McAlister glanced down at his watch and then looked up and scanned the surrounding buildings. Robin froze. McAlister shook his head and said something that Robin couldn't hear to the other guard who then turned and left, leaving McAlister and the other guard standing under the street light. The guard remaining turned to speak with McAlister, putting his mouth in line of sight. Robin read his lips as he spoke,  
   
“We should go. If one of the warehouses has been hit then they could know that we're here.”  
   
_One_ of the warehouses? How many did he have?! Damn, damn, _damn_!  
   
McAlister nodded and turned away, the guard following. Well that was that, Robin sighed. And now McAlister knew that they were onto him, he'd bury himself even further underground. Fuck.

Suddenly, registering the presence behind him, Robin jerked to the side. The movement saved his life as the bullet intended for the back of his head buried into the armor over his shoulder.  He swept his leg back, knocking his assailant’s feet out from under him, and bringing him smashing into the fist that Robin swung up – ignoring his viciously screaming shoulder – to slam into the stomach…of the guard that McAlister had sent away, he realized belatedly. Robin jumped clear and then waited to see if the guard would get back up. He earned himself a grudging point when he staggered to his feet but Robin didn't give him time to regain his balance. He lit into him fast and brutal, knowing that if they tried to drag this out the guard might win on strength alone. Finally the guard crashed down on the roof and remained still. Robin, chest heaving, scanned the rooftop looking for anyone else, but it was empty. The other guard and McAlister were long gone and they had sufficiently distracted him from following. Fantastic.  
   
<Oracle?> Robin frowned into the silence as he massaged his aching shoulder, <Oracle,> he called again <are you there?>  
   
<Yes, sorry. How did the drop go?>  
   
Robin wondered what she'd been doing but didn't ask, <Not well. McAlister got scared off. There are apparently more warehouses beyond the one that I found and I’ve got an unconscious guard on a rooftop. How close are the units?>  
   
<five minutes>  
   
Robin considered the likelihood of waking up the guard and getting anything out of him in five minutes and shook his head. <Tell them to expect a package.>  
   
*  
Tim winced as he tried, for the fourth time, to get his jacket on. He sighed; he really should just call Miriam and cancel. But…

He had looked up her file at the school; it had been… disturbingly bland. She'd been home schooled in a small town in Northeastern Wales, the name of which seemed to be made up entirely of vowels and he doubted he could pronounce correctly with a gun to his head. The town wasn't on any map that he could find and the most that he'd been able to track down through the United Kingdom's systems was that it was on some kind of reserve similar to an Indian reservation.   But when he tried to find out anything about the people there the system drew a blank. It wasn't being blocked, it just wasn't there. In the end his search had left him with even more questions and fewer avenues for answers. Thus he'd decided to keep the date with Miriam in hopes of learning more about her. After all she'd given him the perfect opportunity – she'd invited him to meet her at her house and provided him with an invaluable source of information, because even if she didn't want to answer personal questions he'd yet to meet an eight year old who didn't.  
   
Tim knocked on the door of the huge white house and waited. Somehow he'd failed to put together the name O’Connell with the O’Connell’s, Gotham's leading textile manufacturer. Tim tried to dredge up a mental picture of Sean O'Connell. He was sure that he'd met the man at one of Bruce's social functions. Tall, blond hair, fair skin. Something of a vapid look about him. Miriam with her dark hair and green eyes apparently took after the other side of the family. The door opened, revealing a small child with long black hair and vivid blue eyes.  
   
"Hello?"  
   
"Hi, you must be Tina.  I’m Tim, I’m here to see Miriam."  
   
"Ok."

She stood waiting in the doorway, and Tim tried not to feel unnerved by her unblinking stare.  He was always awkward around children, perhaps because he'd never been much of one himself.  
   
When she seemed disinclined to admit him he asked, “May I please come in?”

“Yes.”  She opened the door wider and allowed him into the entryway. The place was truly enormous, if he'd not spent so much time at Wayne Manor he'd probably be overawed. He turned to find the small child still staring at him, he coughed, uncomfortable.  
   
"So is she here?"  
   
"Yes."  
   
He sighed internally but didn’t let it show on his face.  "Could you take me to her, please?"  
   
A smile blossomed on the child's face as if he’d passed some test, "Sure." She sped up the winding staircase and towards a set of double doors in what Tim guessed to be the east wing of the "house." Miriam's room proved to be startlingly Spartan however.  There were no pictures, no posters nothing that might indicate that this was the room of a teenager. There was a bed, a night stand and a desk over which Miriam was hunched, pounding away on her laptop. She glanced up at Tim and then did a double take.  
   
"What's wrong with your shoulder?"  
   
Tim straightened up, realizing that he'd been favoring it without even noticing. "Uh…"  
   
Miriam got up from the desk, closing the laptop and shooed the girl, presumably Tina, out of the room. She began gently working his jacket off and then started on his shirt. Tim marveled at her obvious skill, no doubt honed with a great deal of practice, but the look on her face was nothing but professional. Belatedly he realized that he ought to be stopping her from doing this, as it was going to raise a lot of awkward questions in about thirty seconds time.  
   
Her mouth dropped open at the sight of his shoulder.  "Goddess Bless, Tim!" She ran her hand gently over the violently discolored skin. Tim winced in anticipation sending twinges through his arm but when her hand made contact, a sudden numbness began to spread over the area, chasing away the pain. Tim blinked, and then moved his arm experimentally, but the pain had vanished.  He rotated the arm more vigorously and then turned to look at himself in the mirror. The discoloration had gone completely.  
   
He turned back to Miriam who looked like a deer caught in headlights. "How on earth did you do that?!"  
   
"Ah." She licked her lips, looking everywhere but at him.  
   
"Miriam!"  
   
She winced and then looked at him. "I tell you what. You don't ask how I did that, and I won't ask you what happened."  
   
Tim considered it, weighing personal and professional curiosity against his ability to manufacture a plausible excuse. They stared at each other, each waiting for the other to make the next move; finally Miriam took a deep breath and said, falsely bright, "So, the museum? Tina's been very excited."  
   
Tim nodded slowly. "Right, museum." They headed down the staircase, each casting speculative glances at the other.  
   
*  
Tim sat in the museum cafe watching Tina who was enthusiastically devouring a slice of extremely over priced pizza. Miriam had excused herself to go to the restroom, and Tim figured that this was the best time to plumb this unexpected source of information.  
   
"So, Tina, did you ever go visit Miriam in Wales?"  
   
Tina glanced up. "No."  
   
Yet another monosyllabic answer. It seemed to be the norm.  As they'd explored the museum, she’d barely said three words, but when he’d commented on it quietly to Miriam, she’d said it was typical.

"How come?"  
   
Tina seemed to think it over for a moment and then shrugged. Tim sighed inwardly. Seriously getting this kid to talk was like pulling teeth; so much for his vaunted theory about talkative eight year olds. "Did Miriam and her family ever come visit you?"  
   
Tina eyed him speculatively. "You ask a lot of questions."  
   
Damn. "I'm sorry, I was just curious."  
   
"That's ok, Daddy says that if you don't understand something that you should ask."  
   
Hallelujah, a whole sentence. "So did they ever come to visit?"  
   
"Nope."  
   
"Do you know why she came to live with you?"  
   
"Nope." Tim froze, the answer had come from behind him.  He turned around slowly to find Miriam watching him, her face neutral but her eyes hard.  
   
"Tina," she said not taking her eyes off of Tim, "why don't you go refill your drink, ok?"  
   
"Ok." Tina hopped off the chair and ran off to the soda fountain.  
   
"I'll thank you not to interrogate my cousin." Miriam said angrily, taking the seat opposite him.  
   
"I'm sorry." He held his hands up in defense. "I really am, I was just curious.   I don't really know anything about you, Miriam."  
   
She smiled grimly. "I could say the same of you."  
   
"True enough. So ask."  
   
She frowned giving him a searching look for a few moments and then sighed, "Look, I know perfectly well that you don't really want me to ask you any questions. I've learned the art of evasion well enough to recognize a master when I see one. Let's just let it go, aye? I just want to be friends, friends of the non-question-asking variety. I should think that you'd appreciate that."  
   
Tim wanted to say, 'but if I don't ask you questions how do I know that you're not part of the drug ring that I’m investigating?' But instead he replied, "Alright." The “for now” he left unspoken, but Miriam seemed to hear it all the same.

Unbecoming:  
Chapter Three

Miriam ghosted down the hallways of Arkham Asylum, turning aside the minds of the guards and the orderlies with practiced ease. Not that such a precaution was even necessary here; Arkham employees didn't stare too hard at the shadows, just in case the shadows stared back. For weeks now she had been visiting the Asylum, watching the prisoners within and struggling with an internal war. She was supposed to be keeping a low profile.  And if she tried to help the inmates, then she was bound to be spotted sooner or later. Presuming they were looking, of course, and that there was anyone left _to_ look. She quashed that thought mercilessly and turned back to the question at hand.  
   
She stopped in front of the Joker's cell. She'd found herself here most nights that she visited the Asylum, hoping for a repeat of the performance she’d witnessed on her first visit. She had been more cautious then, carefully covering the minds of anyone she met, sticking to the shadows and limiting her time in one place. She'd been skulking down a side passage when she’d heard it, the screaming of a mind so torn by anguish that it had taken her breath away. It had been so loud, so frenzied she wondered how the others couldn’t hear it, thick minded or not.

She'd stopped in front of his cell, and seen the man from the file: the Joker.  His white skin had gleamed with sweat, curly green hair matted and tangled, as he tossed and turned in his tortured sleep.   But his mind, his mind screamed at her, pleaded with her, begged her to make it stop.   To make the pain stop. To make the dreams stop. To make it _all_ stop. And when the Joker had jerked upright, a scream dying on his lips, she'd looked into the eyes of a drowning man, a man who was scared and alone but most all, sane. And then he was gone, replaced by the Clown Price of Crime once again.

She'd come back almost every night for a week after that, hoping to see that man again, hoping to speak with him, but he he'd failed to reappear on his own. He was so deeply buried that she'd been afraid to try to bring him out herself for fear of doing more harm than good. She needed time, much more time than she could ever lay claim to during her clandestine visits. If she was going to help him – them - she would have to do it through normal channels. Well, semi-normal channels anyway.  And therein lay the risk of discovery.  Her thoughts were interrupted as she felt it again, the same screaming anguish of the first night. She turned her attention towards the cell and concentrated, working through the haze and the fear of the dream.  
   
"Don't go." A blond, heavily pregnant woman implored.  
   
_No, please no.  No more_.  The man trapped in the Joker’s mind moaned.  
   
The woman blinked back tears, shaking a wealth of blond hair out of her face, eyes pleading, "Who? . . .I . . . ?" This time it was the voice of the Joker, confused and struggling to make sense of the scene.

Then the dream faltered suddenly, _hello_?  The voice of the man trapped within the Joker’s mind whispered.  
   
_Easy_ , Miriam called to him, _my name is Miriam, I want to help you_ she was struggling to focus, something that had never happened before, but it was like a voice within a voice, she’d never encountered a consciousness so fractured.  
   
"I wish you wouldn't do this.” The blond woman continued in the dream, “There has to be another way. We could leave Gotham . . .or— there must be something!"  
   
_Kill me_ the voice whispered fiercely  
   
Leave Gotham? He couldn't leave Gotham, the Joker thought vaguely, it was, well there was a reason, he just couldn't think of it right now. Revenge. Yeah, that was it, revenge.  
   
Miriam felt her breath catch.  Not good.  _No_. she answered the voice _I can help you_.  
   
The Joker focused on her swelling belly, a boy, he though suddenly, but couldn't think why.  
   
"Please."  The woman pleaded.  
   
There was a shift and suddenly he stood over a hissing vat of acid.  
   
_KILL ME!_ The voice screamed.  
   
The rising vapor from the vat made his eyes water. He could hear the sounds of gunfire in the distance. He should leave, things had gone wrong. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Then he was falling, the acid was getting closer, and he was screaming . . .  
   
Miriam jerked, her head snapping back as the Joker bolted up right and shouted incoherently. She fought down the rising nausea as she tried to regulate her breathing, Goddess, too fast. She'd gone in much too fast. She shook her head trying to clear the screaming. The screams . . . they were dying . . . it was her fault… _NO_! She rested her head against the cool glass of the cell wall and fought down the panic.  Four breaths in.  Four breaths out.  Four breaths in.  She was here to help people damn it, not wallow in self pity. She'd done that already.  
   
"Hello?"  
   
Miriam glanced up; the Joker was staring at her. She tried and failed to throw up a mental block. She sighed, supposing that it didn't really matter anyway, it’s not like anyone would believe him if he told them.  
   
"Hello." She replied tiredly.  
   
"And who might you be, hmmmm?"  
   
She smiled sadly, still leaning against the glass; the Joker had come to stand just in front of her "A fellow tortured soul." She answered softly.  
   
The Joker's eyes narrowed and he stepped back slightly. "Are you one of the new doctors?"  
   
Miriam looked up at him, searching his eyes for the man she knew was in there. The Joker shifted under her gaze. She nodded, determination forming in her eyes. "Yes. Yes, I am."  
   
* * *  
   
Robin was making rounds; he had decided to switch up the pattern again, predictability being something that he strove to avoid, and was working his way toward downtown Gotham. His fears had been confirmed regarding the drug ring. McAlister had all but disappeared, and he'd heard nothing more of the ring in the last couple weeks. Oracle was doing her best, but she'd seemed distracted of late. Robin wondered if he ought to press the matter but couldn't decide. Perhaps he'd take it up with Dick and see what he thought. He fired off another grappling hook and swung out into the night when a scream ripped through the air. Robin waited for a second one so that he could pinpoint the location and then headed in that direction.  
   
* * *  
   
Miriam was walking back from Arkham. It was about a two hour walk from the Asylum back to her Uncle's house but she found that the walk gave her time to think. Her first description of the city as desperate proved to be more accurate than she could ever have feared. This city was hollow, a lifeless, hopeless shell. She didn't understand how the people couldn't feel it, it sucked at her, making her want to grab the nearest person and shake him until he understood that he had to get out before it was too late. If it wasn't already. Even with her limited experience she knew that _all_ cites weren't like this. She'd been to London once. It had been nothing like this, the city had had its share of poverty and despair, certainly, but it was nothing in relation to this vampiric monstrosity called Gotham. What she'd said to the Joker tonight had been important. She wasn't going to stand by and watch as these people allowed themselves to been ensanguined. She was going to help them damn it, whether they liked it or not.  And perhaps, through helping them, she might find her atonement.  At the very least it would give her something else to think about.

Miriam's head jerked up as a scream sounded up ahead. Her heart leaped into her throat as panicked images flashed in front of her eyes, but the scream came again and she began running towards the sound. No No No No no, not again no!  As she rounded the corner a gruesome, if common place sight, met her eyes. Two men had a woman on the ground, one was rifling through her pursue and the other was trying to force her legs open. Miriam aimed towards the man on top of the woman and charged, screaming at the top of her lungs. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!”  
   
* * *  
   
Robin had located the source of the scream; a woman was being attacked and was struggling desperately to fight off her assailants. Robin was reaching for his grapple gun when he head another scream, this one of rage, and caught a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye.  He turned his head to see—of all people— _Miriam_ charging toward the man who had the woman pinned to the ground. Robin heard the sound of steel tipped boots connecting with flesh as he swung into the second man who had looked up from rifling through the woman’s purse at the sound of Miriam’s shout, knocking him from his  half crouch into the side of the building. The man hit the wall with a grunt and then slid to the ground motionless. Robin turned back to find Miriam holding the sobbing woman and the man clutching his groin, his face purple with agony, vomit staining the font of his shirt and pooling on the ground next to him.  
   
"It's ok love, it's all right. He can’t hurt you anymore," Miriam crooned to the woman, rocking her gently back and forth. Miriam’s own face was as white as a sheet. She glanced up and her mouth fell open.  
   
" _TIM_?!"  
   
Well, fuck. "Miriam," he began dangerously, but she waved him into silence with a hand that shook slightly.  She closed her eyes momentarily, and after a few steadying breaths, the woman went limp in her arms.  
   
"Now what did you do?!"  
   
"I…I put her to sleep," she said, her composure returning slowly. "We should get her to a rape center. Or-" She fell silent. She glanced over at him again, the disquiet in her eyes lifting for a moment as she grinned, eyeing the costume. "This certainly explains a lot."  
   
Robin blinked behind the mask and sighed. "We are going to have to have a long talk, you and I." It was Miriam's turn to sigh but she didn't protest, only turned to the woman in her arms and then glanced back at him.  
   
"I need . . . your advice." She seemed uncertain, and lost some of the composure she’d regained. "I can wipe this from her memory; she'll have no recollection of being attacked. Do you . . . would you think that a good thing to do?"  
   
"I . . ." He shifted uncomfortably.  "Um . . . no. No.” he shook his head, “We- _I_ should take her to the rape center." He reconsidered. "And you're coming too. What are you doing wandering around by yourself at this time of night anyway?"  
   
"You're one to talk."  
   
Robin rolled his eyes and scooped up the woman. She seemed peaceful enough. "There's a clinic on Fifth and Centee. It's about ten minutes from here."  
   
They decided in the end that Miriam would take the woman in. She told her story about finding the two attackers, leaving out the bit about Robin, and handed the still sleeping – supposedly passed out – woman over to the attendant. Miriam left her contact information and said that she'd be happy to testify if need be. She was joined by Robin in the alley.  
   
"Well?"  
   
"No problem."  
   
"Good.” Robin replied curtly, and then in a tone that brooked no argument, “Now come with me."  
   
Miriam sighed but followed. Robin led her to one of his many bolt holes throughout the city. Once safely ensconced within he turned to her.  
   
"How the hell did you know who I was?"  
   
Miriam frowned at the floor. "I'm . . ." she growled in frustration. "They don't have a word for it in your language. Psychic is really… but it's the best that I can do. People’s minds have . . ." she groped for a word, "resonance, somewhat like a radio frequency, yeah? No two are the same. I identify people by that more than by sight. I was…distracted or I'd have been more careful. Sorry."  
   
Robin stared at her and then sighed. He sat down on a crate. "Miriam, I need to know that I can trust you. Right now I don't feel that way."  
   
Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not— why would I tell anyone? Who would even believe me? And besides, to do so I'd have to expose myself, which I'm not willing to do. So there then, two reasons, if you won't take genuine honesty, then take self interest. I don't want your secrets Tim. Trust me. I've got more than my fair share."  
   
"But what if you already work for people who know? They'd believe you, wouldn't they? What were you doing out here Miriam?"  
   
Miriam looked bewildered, not understanding the turn the conversation had taken. "Why does that matter?"  
   
"Because this is the area where I busted up a huge drug ring about three weeks ago and I think you might be part of it. So I ask again, what were you doing out here?"  
   
She looked outraged, "How dare you?!” She was on her feet and in his face before he could blink.  “ _I would never_ . . .how could you even suggest such a thing? I would sooner . . ." Anger robbed her of words.  
   
Robin refused to take a step back, but her proximity had alarm bells going off in the back of his mind.  "Then what were you doing out here?"  He demanded harshly.  
   
"I was going for a walk,” she fumed. “It helps me think."  
   
 "We're almost an hour from your home."  
   
"It was a long walk," she answered snidely.  
   
Robin ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "And _this_ is why I can't trust you. You're _lying_ , Miriam."  
   
"Fine. You want to know the real reason? Fine. I was walking home from Arkham Asylum."  
   
"Arkham?"  
   
"Yes," she said acidly. "Arkham. You know the place where they dump the people that are too inconvenient to deal with? And I would never sell drugs! _Never_! I want to help the people in this wretched city, not aid them in their self-destruction."  
   
Robin shook his head. "Wait, hold on a moment. What were you doing at Arkham?"  
   
"Making a decision."  
   
Robin now understood where Tina got it from. "Miriam." He growled.  
   
She hesitated for a long moment and then finally said. "I can make them sane again. And I will do."  
   
Robin's mouth fell open. "You can . . .seriously?"  
   
"Yes, seriously." She sighed. "But it's going to take a while. Years for some." She looked over at him, "So what are you supposed to . . . . wait, Paul told me about this, you work with that Batman person don't you?!"  
   
"Yes." Robin sighed in exasperation. "Damn it Miriam, this is not good. Your knowing endangers a lot of people."  
   
"Why? I'm not going to tell anyone." She answered hands on hips.  
   
"But there is no way for me to know that."  
   
Miriam rolled her eyes. "Are you trying to tell me that in all the years you and this Batman person have been doing this _no one_ else has managed to figure it out?”  _No one?!_  

“Some people know,” Robin allowed, “People we _trust.”_

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to learn to trust me." She fidgeted for a moment and then blurted out, "so, um, is there an orphanage?"  
   
"What?"  
   
"Paul said that Batman gets his—  
   
"No!"  
   
"Alright. Sorry." She held up her hands in defense. "Just checking."  
   
Robin looked around the room, the number of people that this was going to impact was banging for attention in the back of his mind but curiosity clubbed it into silence. "So what about you? How is it that you can do what you do?"  
   
"Ah." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I was rather hoping that you wouldn't ask that."  
   
"I think it’s fair, considering."  
   
"I was, well, I was born this way. I was educated and brought up in it but the talent was there from the start."  
   
"And what talent are we talking about exactly?"  
   
"Crudely?” She hunched her shoulders defensively, “Mind manipulation.” Her eyes slid away from his briefly.  
   
"That’s rather vague."  
   
She hugged a sigh. "I have the ability to make people think and do what I want but I _don’t_ because it’s morally reprehensible.  Or, well,” she hedged, “I try not to; sometimes I don’t realize I’m doing it.” She admitted. “So what about you, how long've you been swinging around on rooftops?"  
   
Robin's tone became bland. "Long enough."  
   
"Nuh-uh, you asked, I answered. It’s my turn."  
   
"I can't, there are too many other people's lives at stake."  He eyed her distrustfully, “Couldn’t you just make me tell you?”

“Did you _not_ just hear what I said about it being morally reprehensible?!”  Miriam hissed angrily.

Robin’s lips quirked up in a quick smile, “Just checking.”

Miriam still looked angry, but she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Fine, then we'll just have to pick this up in a month or so, when I will have completely failed to divulge your secret to the world and bring about the destruction of your life as you know it.”  It was Robin’s turn to roll his eyes.  
   
* * *  
   
The Joker sat on the edge of his bed, fiddling with a piece of string. If he could get it to take the knot, then it would be the first piece of his rather elaborate escape plan. His side wasn't entirely healed but he was so tired of Arkham that he'd take the chance. This place was driving him insane. He giggled to himself.  
   
"Whatcha up to puddin'?"  
   
"I'm making a better mouse trap. What the hell does it look like I'm doing?"  
   
"Playin' with string."  
   
"Yes, that's it. I'm playing with string. Now run along like a good little loon. I'm trying to concentrate."  
   
Harley ignored him. "I miss Red."  
   
She chatted on and the Joker hummed noncommittally at appropriate moments. He'd long ago learned to tune Harley out. Her chatter became something like background noise after a while, soothing in its own weird way. The urgency of his need to escape was something of a surprise, even to himself. He could normally last until he was at least fit to go another ten rounds with Bats but . . . he needed out of here. Now. He'd actually started hallucinating; it had been a while since he'd done that. Must be the food.  But just the other day he'd woken up and thought that there had been some girl standing outside of his cell in the middle of the night. She'd even spoken to him, coherently; something his previous hallucinations had always failed to do. He didn't think it had been a dream, he hadn’t dreamt in years. This, this had been so _real_. He could have sworn she was actually there . . . he shook his head and redoubled his efforts with the recalcitrant knot. He definitely needed to get out of here.  
   
* * *  
   
Miriam finished the final touches on her résumé for the position of Head Director of Arkham Asylum and sent it off to the committee. Provided that she could get a meeting with them, then she was assured to be hired, she'd see to that. Guilt twinged but she pushed it aside. If they truly didn't want her then she wouldn't force it, but she didn't think it would be much of an issue. Arkham had gone through seven Directors in the last two years; she doubted it would be much of a fight. As for school, she'd already taken half days. She could get to Arkham early, work from five to seven and then get back around one and work till seven or eight at night. It should work out nicely. Not that she'd be telling the committee that. There would be some manipulation required – there was no getting around that but she was going to be helping people not robbing them of their Will. She kept repeating that to herself as she pulled up the plans for Arkham. She would be making another visit tonight. She needed to figure out how they were escaping. If they got out before she could finish the treatment then none of this was going to be worth anything.  
   
* * *  
   
Tim stared at the wall in his room. He should tell Bruce about Miriam. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, he'd been hacking nonstop for days, trying desperately to find out who she was, but he'd come up empty. She'd lived in a non-mappable town in Northwestern Wales that the United States Office of Internal Affairs claimed not to exist. The equivalent office in the UK basically said that it was a reservation. A reservation for what they didn't say and no one seemed to know despite calls to every official he could think off. There was no record of her birth in any hospital, but then the town that she'd come from had no records at all. He could find no trace of her parents, or any relative beyond her Uncle who had moved to Gotham twenty years ago, apparently from the same phantom town. He too lacked a birth certificate, any traceable linage, or any other identification beyond his American citizenship. It was as if before coming to Gotham they simply hadn't existed. Robin growled and shoved away from his desk to pace. He should tell Bruce. He needed to tell Bruce. There really wasn't any reason not to tell Bruce, except . . . except he liked Miriam. She was nice, she'd never done anything to him and he couldn't see siccing Batman on her as any type of repayment. It's not like they could do anything, they couldn’t wipe her memory, but apparently she could wipe theirs. And hadn’t. That was something at least. He didn't really think that she was involved with the drug ring. He didn't know what she was involved in but she'd done nothing to indicate that she was a threat beyond being completely untraceable, which, admittedly, didn't look good.  He sighed. He would wait. Hell, Catwoman knew who they were and she was a criminal. Sort of. That decided, he turned back towards his desk and tried to summon up the interest to care about Walt Whitman’s impression of the working man. It was going to be a long night.  
   
* * *  
   
Miriam's high heels clacked loudly on the polished entry floor of Arkham. She nodded toward the guard at the front desk and waited while he printed out her pass. She glanced around the atrium; in all the time that she had been here she'd never seen the entrance to the building. It was impressive if you didn't know what lurked beneath the polished marble surface. She'd received an invitation to an interview less than 23 hours after she'd sent her resume in. Their desperation alone would have been enough to frighten off most applicants right then. Miriam smiled to herself; she might not even have to help.  
   
* * *  
   
Terry Margo, one of the members of the Arkham Asylum’s Board of Directors, tugged at her suit jacket, eyes on the clock. The spot of Head Director for Arkham had been vacant for months. They hadn't even had any poor applicants apply and they were getting desperate. She glanced down at the resume for Miriam Alexander once more. Honors Graduate from John Hopkins medical school with a dual PhD in Law and Medicine, with a business degree from Harvard. This woman was a godsend, that is, she would be if she'd stay. As the clock struck nine the doors opened and Miriam Alexander entered.  She crossed the floor with a confident stride to the chair set before the panel. She was in her early forties, dressed well in a black suit that showed off her well kept figure.  Her thick black hair was piled on top of her head; she had green, intelligent eyes and sense of poise that gave Terry hope. Attractive, enough to get around the problems of Weiss and Flech but intelligent enough to actually do the job. Perhaps, finally, they had found someone who could deal with the insanity of Arkham.  
   
* * *  
   
Miriam glanced over the panel as she took her seat. She'd pulled files on all of the members, and read them through twice. She matched faces to back story as she looked over the row. Terry Margo, Head of Public Relations, a difficult task at best, sat to the right of the acting Head Director, a man in is late seventies, named Dr. Gerald Hemingway who desperately wanted to retire. Miriam intended to help him on his way. Next to Terry Margo was Dr. Alex Flech. Miriam could practically feel the leer he aimed in her direction. As the head of the medical staff he was important, but his background was disquieting. He had once been the head of an experimental medical division for none other than Roland Dagget and Miriam was positive that his old boss was slipping him drugs to test on the inmates. On the other side of Hemingway was Bruce Wayne. Playboy billionaire and wastrel if the tabloids were to be believed. But as Miriam glanced at him warning sirens started wailing in her brain.  His mental finger print was unlike anything she had ever felt in her entire life.  She strengthened the imaged of a confident forty-something that she was projecting into their minds and tried to look blasé rather than nervous.  
   
Wayne had a disinterested and vacant air about him and his fellow directors clearly thought he wasn't much beyond a paycheck which made Miriam want to laugh; he wore his innocuousness like a well-tailored suit even his eyes didn’t give him away.  This man was dangerous. She'd keep her eye on him; she'd have to reconfigure how he fit into her plan. Finally, next to Bruce was Giles Weiss, head of security. He would be the first to go, Miriam thought viciously. The man looked corrupt, which was the nicest thing that could be said about him. He’d grown fat on bribes over the years, flooding the streets with sick men and woman who in turn created yet more pain and suffering. Why the directors hadn’t sacked him long ago was beyond her. Probably because a suitable replacement couldn't be found. She'd change that. Miriam smiled. She'd change everything.  
   
Miriam watched as Hemingway struggled to his feet, jowls swaying slightly. "Now, Ms. Alexander what makes you think that you'd be fit to run Arkham, hm?"  
   
Miriam answered without hesitation, just liked she’d rehearsed. "I am skilled in both medical and business application. I understand that Arkham is a hospital but that it is also a correctional facility. If hired for the position I can assure you that I will make improvements that will aid in the facilitation of both orientations. I intend to improve security as well as the treatment we provide to our patients." Miriam cut Weiss and Flech off before they could protest.  “Of course I mean no disrespect towards our current head of Security," she purred towards Weiss, "nor towards our head of medicine." She flashed Flech a smile. "I believe that we lack sufficient staff and budget to run Arkham correctly. I intend to see both increased as well as implementing new treatments and technologies." Flech brighten up at the obvious sop. One down.  
   
As if on cue Bruce Wayne chimed in, "now Ms. Alexander, I believe that Arkham is more than adequately funded."  
   
Miriam watched his eyes as he spoke; good Gods she was in the presence of a master, she should be taking notes. She smiled at him knowingly. "As you say Mr. Wayne, but I believe some belt tightening is in order." It was spectacular. She watched Bruce Wayne Billionaire brighten up at the idea of saving money and at the same time, the real man beneath gave away nothing.  He could be plotting her death for all she knew.  Beautiful.  And very, very dangerous.  
   
Hemingway had watched all this with a glazed look in his eyes; he roused himself enough to ask, "I assume that you know that Arkham is, ahem, difficult at times. Nothing that a charming young thing like yourself couldn't handle I’m sure."  
   
Miriam suppressed a smile as she watched Terry Margo wince and even Bruce Wayne looked mildly shocked. She kept her face neutral as she responded "I have read up on the Asylum. Yes, I’m aware of its rather checkered history. If I didn't think that I could improve it I wouldn't be here."   
   
The questions went on for another hour or so, Miriam laid out her initial plans, all of which were more or less lies since her real plans involved sacking most of the people in front of her.  Interviews were such amazing things, Miriam mused as she watched the board exchange supposedly covert glances. But she'd get the job because she they were desperate. She wasn't fooling herself; the desperation in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. They needed her far more than she needed them, or so they thought anyway.  
   
Hemingway stood up from a crouched discussion with Terry Margo. "Very well then, when can you start?"  
   
Miriam blinked in surprise, she'd at least expected them to deliberate first. For the first time her poise slipped slightly. "Um, tomorrow actually.” She rallied, “If that will be ok with all of you?"  
   
Hemingway nodded vigorously. "Lord yes."  
   
Miriam had to smother a laugh as Terry Margo actually put her head in her hands.

  
Unbecoming:  
Chapter Three.

<Marshall, its Miriam.>

<Hey, so how did the interview go?>

<Better than expected actually, I’m going to need you and your boys as soon as possible.>

<Really? Well that's good to hear.> There was a pause and then he continued, <We can start just as soon as the money hits the account.>

<It’s there already; I need you and your men on the first plane over here. We're gonna start the day off with a bang.>

<Sounds good.>

<Just remember the terms that we discussed.>

Marshall laughed at the warning in her voice, <Lady, for the money you're paying us, the Queen mother her bleedin’self couldn't bribe me.>

<Good to hear.>

* * *

Tim looked up to see Miriam walking across the green. He grabbed his books and headed towards her. "Where have you been? You’ve missed three classes.   The male population is positively apoplectic from unfulfilled lust."

Miriam glanced around at him and smiled brightly. "At a job interview."

Tim blinked, "Really?  For what?"

Miriam looked over at him, weighing her options and decided fuck it, she could trust him, and besides she had to tell _somebody_ or she was going to explode. "For the position of Head Director of Arkham."  She answered, rocking back on her heels excitedly.

Tim's eyes narrowed, “The Head Director of Arkham.” he repeated slowly. “I realized they were hard up, I _didn’t_ realize they were so desperate they’d taken to interviewing _high school kids_.”

Miriam rolled her eyes, "They didn’t actually see a high school kid. They saw a woman in her forties. All business. That's me." She winked at him.

“Miriam how are you in _anyway_ qualified to run Arkham?”

“Honestly I’m probably the _only one_ qualified to run Arkham at this point,” she muttered irritably, “and I don’t plan to do it alone.  Anyway, it’s not like I could run it any _worse_ than it’s already been run.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, “That’s hardly a ringing endorsement.”

“Oh fuck you Drake, considering how you spend your free time I _really_ don’t feel that you’re in a position to judge.” Miriam said good naturedly.

“I _am_ qualified to do what I do.”  Tim pointed out.

“And so am I.”  Miriam shot back, “Look I got the job, and I didn’t even have to push, so if they don’t like it they can sack me, but you wait I’m going to make this place work and I going to help these poor people.”

Tim regarded her skeptically; finally he shrugged, “Well, congratulations I guess.  Or my condolences.  I’m not sure which is more appropriate.”

Miriam laughed, “We’ll have to wait and see I expect. “     

Unbecoming:  
Chapter Four

Terry Margo looked up as Miriam entered the room.  Margo had been one of the few bright spots at the asylum, a slight woman with steel gray hair, light eyes and caramel colored skin, she held herself with a sense of poise and self-confidence that Miriam found attractive.  Margo greeted Miriam warmly as she entered. "Hello Dr. Alexander! You're here early."

Miriam smiled, "Please, call me Miriam, and I believe in getting an early start. Actually I had a few questions for you if you don't mind?"

Terry gestured for Miriam to take a seat, "Coffee?"

"No, thank you. Now Ms. Margo—

"Terry, please."

"Terry then. Terry I intend to make a great many changes here. I believe, to be frank, that this institution is broken. I'm speaking to each of the Board Members individually to let you know what I intend to do and how it will affect you, as well as asking for suggestions." Miriam paused and Terry nodded for her to continue, "I know that you are one of the few people at this intuition who truly cares about its future. I feel that you have done a more than adequate job attempting to smooth the way with the public, the press and the authorities, especially give the circumstances under which you have been forced to work. I would very much like you to stay if you will, and if you have any suggestions, or requests please let me know and I will do my utmost to see that they are made possible.

Miriam sat back and watched the astonishment forming on Terry's face, "I, um, thank you. That is very kind of you.” She cleared her throat, regaining her composure. “Yes, I would very much like to stay. As for suggestions." She lifted her hand and gestured to her spartan office. "I would love to have something _good_ to report to the public rather than another escape. Beyond that," She laughed, "A raise is always nice."

Miriam nodded, "fifteen percent, effective as of today. I will notify payroll."

Terry's mouth fell open, "Really? Oh my God, I was—I was _joking_."

"Well I can take it back." Miriam teased.

"No! No that's quite alright. Thank you. Who are you going to see next?"

"Next I thought I drop in on Hemingway and suggest that the golfing is good in Scotland this time of year."

Terry laughed, "He'll jump. Trust me."

Terry was right, Miriam sauntered into Hemingway's office at half past six and he was headed for the airport by seven. Miriam surveyed the spotless desk and the dusty filing cabinets and sighed. Lunch time found her seated on the floor, files spread out all around her in varying states of disarray. Terry stuck her head in and gasped, "Good Lord."

Miriam didn't look up, "Mmm, I wonder, Terry do you know of any admins that might be worth poaching?"

"Allen Griggs down in staffing. The man is wasted there."

"Brilliant.  Could you do me a favor and send him on up for me."

Terry took one more look at the mess, nodded "Of course."

Miriam didn't make it into school that day; she didn't make it out of the office. When Allen showed up she put him to work separating files into piles of complete and incomplete and then had him start transferring the data onto the computer. There were files that were over ten years old on some of the inmates. They had logs of escapes, family histories in varying stages of incompletion, and medical records. They had trial dates, conviction notices and appeals filed. Not one of them in any semblance of order. Allen had taken one look at the mess and gone to get two more of the admins from staffing. While they sorted and processed, Miriam went into another room and put in a call to her uncle.

"Hey Uncle Sean."

"Well hello there," she could hear the smile in his voice, and even exhausted as she was it made her smile in turn.  She could see him seated at his desk, broad shouldered stretching as he leaned back in his chair, blond hair flopping in his eyes. "Didn't make it in today did we?"  He asked cheerfully.

"Did they phone you already!?"

"Aye, here in Gothem we're soft on crime but hard on truancy. I told them that you had the flu. How are things there?"

Miriam made a face.  "Ridicules."

"Sounds about right."

Miriam sighed, "I won't be home for dinner, I probably won't be home for the rest of the week. So if you could call the school and tell them--"

"That you're dyin’?" He laughed, "Aye sure. Tina misses you."

"And I miss her. Giver her my love. I've got to go."

"Take care. Try not to do too much all at once."

"No promises."

“Miriam?”  She paused and brought he phone back to her ear, “aye?” 

“I know that I was worried about you taking this on, but I’m proud of you lass, you’re doing good.”

Miriam swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, “Thank you Uncle.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hung up, took a deep breath, clearer her throat a couple of times and then dialed Marshall who answered on the second ring, with "Yo."

Miriam blinked, “Really?  ‘ _yo’_? I thought people only talked like that in films.”

“And hello to you too Mariam.”

" What's your ETA?"

"Twenty three hundred."

"I’m going to want your people to set up a make shift barracks in the basement for the time being. We'll work out more permanent housing once everything settles down. I've got a lot to do here so I’m going to need you to mind yourselves. I won't be available for much hand holding."

"We're mercs M, we don't do hand holding."

"Good."

She hung up, and headed back to the office. Allen looked up as she walked in and said,

"Dr. Flech was in here looking for you."

"Oh Hurrah.” She answered back sourly, “Well he'll just have to wait until we get this sorted. I've got to get the system up and running. She pulled her laptop out of her bag and sat down at the desk. She unzipped a small black CD case and pulled out a CD labeled ‘Siberia’. She logged into the Arkham system, automatically checking the chatter on the internal message system and smiled. They were nervous. Which is just what she wanted, it was time for a new world order. Hers.

* * *

"What the devil is going on?" The joker growled as the next set of orderlies rushed by heads together, whispering vigorously.

"I dunno puddin'"

"You there," the Joker thumped on the glass, "What's going on." The orderlies stopped for a moment glanced at the Joker and then hurried on. The Joker marked him down for a messy and painful death. "God damn it, somebody answer me."

Harley watched the rushing orderly with wide eyes, "Maybe somebody died?"

"Lotta fuss for another stiff." The Joker brightened, "Maybe there's a security breach."

"I dunno, there aren't any alarms gonnin' off."

"True." He thumped the glass again and wished desperately for something to throw. He hated being ignored. He'd rather go through eclectic shock therapy a hundred times over. At least then somebody was paying attention to you. This was torture. It made him feel insignificant. Disposable. The Joke was NOT disposable and just as soon as he got out of here he'd remind them of that. Painfully. Not that it looked like was getting out of here anytime soon. His plan had flopped spectacularly and he had been forced to abandon it and look for another alternative. Not many ideas sprung to mind.

* * *

Around eight that night Miriam had finally shooed Allen and the others out of the office. She, however, had stayed to welcome the arrival of Marshall and his mercenaries.  Marshall was a mountain of a man 6’4 or 6’5, with broad, powerful shoulders, a barrel of a chest and a craggy face that spoke of years spent outdoor and in rough conditions.  They had set up cots in the basement and Miriam had run through the layout (both the official one and the one that she had mapped out while scouting out Arkham on her own) She said that she wanted Marshall to meet her in Wess' office at oh-seven hundred and left them to get set up. Now she was finishing updating the last of the files and frowning at the glaring holes. Clearly someone was working under the less is more approach.

*

"What is the meaning of this?" Wess demanded looking from Miriam to Marshall.

"I said” Miriam repeated slowly as if talking to a small child, “that you are herby relived of your position. I will bring it up officially before the board at this month’s meeting when you will be officially terminated but until such times you are relived of your duty. You will clear out your desk and you will inform all of the officers under you command that they are to do likewise.

"You can't—"

Miriam took a step forward, the look in her eyes dangerous.  "I have proof that you have been taking bribes in return for allowing inmates to escape. I have proof that you have actually sabotaged other Directors’ attempts to fix recurring security problems and I have proof that you and your men have engaged in behavior most unbecoming an officer in regard to the imamates of this Asylum. If you do not vacate the premises in the next twenty minutes I will have you escorted by armed guards to the Gothem City jail. _Do you understand me you miserable little man_."

Wess sputtered, going red in the face. "I . . ." he trailed off at the look in Miriam's eyes. He licked his pudgy lips, "Twenty minutes. Got it."

Miriam nodded, "Marshall will accompany you as you make your rounds to inform your men that their services are no longer required."

Wess' piggy little eyes swiveled up towards Marshall’s looking for room to negotiate.  He found none.  "Ah, o-ok."

Miriam nodded to Marshall and left, heading back towards Terry’s office.

“Terry, do you have a moment?”

Terry glanced up from her computer, “Certainly. What can I do for you?”

Miriam smiled, “It’s more what I need you not to do. I’d like to keep the renovation and reorganization of Arkham quiet. Not forever” Miriam assured her, seeing the horrified look on her face, “Just until I get everything settled.”

Terry sighed, “I just knew you were going to ask me that. Very well, but I’m not going to have much to do.”

“Ah, I’ve got a remedy for that as well.”

“I thought you might.”

Miriam sent Terry off to organize the clerical staff, endowing her with the power to fire at will. Miriam only wanted the very best working here, and she’d made that clear to Terry. If they had to work with a skeleton staff for a while so be it. At least it would be a competent one. Miriam returned to her office to find Allen stationed outside, finishing up the transfer of the paper files into the data base.

“Good morning, Dr. Alexander.”

“Morning Allen.”

“Dr. Flech came by again.”

“Persistent isn’t he.”

Allen made a face and Miriam laughed, “Well lucky for him he’s next on the docket. Did he say where he’d be?”

“He said that he would be down on the high profile prisoner’s level running treatment.”

“Ah.”

* * *

The Joker looked up and then did a double take at the sight of the girl walking down the hall. The other inmates were taking notice too; you didn’t get many kids down here.

“Looks like a new doctor. Maybe that was what all the fuss was about?”  Harly said and the Joker gave her a look.  “Who?  The kid?”  He scoffed, looked like poor Harl had slipped another couple of cogs.

This time Harely looked confused, “No Mr. J, the lady in the suit,” she pointed right at the kid that was walking past at this point.”

The Joker shook his head, and then did a double take. The girl glanced over, making eye contact.  It was her. His hallucination, but Harley saw her too.  Well sort of, if Harl thought it was a doctor and not some brat.  Could you have joint hallucinations?

“Hello.”  She greeted him.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

She smiled, “My name is Miriam Alexander. I’m the new head director of Arkham. I’m sorry for all of the confusion. A formal announce will be made soon.”

“You’re _twelve._ How are you the head of _anything_?”

The kid’s eyes widened, and then narrowed, “It doesn’t work on you.”  She muttered quietly, and then smiled sadly, “I suppose that makes sense.”  She hesitated and then moved still closer to the cell, lowering her voice she replied, “Yes, I was here before.  And I don’t look like a kid to them.”  She gestured toward the others, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone because I’ll have to deny it.” She smiled ruefully.

“Why?”

“Well for one thing, people don’t hire kids to be the heads of anything.”  She answered smiling, “And because it wouldn’t look good to have the new Head Director wandering around Arkham before she’d gotten the Job. People would talk.”

“No, why are you here now?”

“I’m here to help you.”

“Sure you are kiddo.” The Joker shifted uncomfortably at the way she was staring at him. Like she knew something he didn’t. He hated new staff; they always thought they could change things. That amount of naiveté always made him nauseous. She’d know who was running the show around here soon enough.

“Well I look forward to having some quality time with you doc, it’s been so rough here. All alone, and scared, it’s so nice to know someone cares.”

“Hey!” Harley squawked but the Joker ignored her.

The kid, Miriam, didn’t look impressed. She nodded, “Until then.”

* * *

“Well hello Dr. Flech, I hear that you’ve been round to see me. I’m sorry that we missed each other.”

Flech glanced up from the patient that he was injecting and shrugged, “No matter. I wanted to discuss the new treatments that you were talking about implementing. I’ve got access to a new drug called Vinderline that I believe would be worth taking a look at— ”

“The new drug by Rollan Dagett? Yes I’ve heard of it. I’ve also heard that it’s not out of the testing phase, and given the fact that one of Dagett’s products put one of our inmates here do you really believe it wise to be taking any type of drug from him?

Flech waved away her concerns, “Nonsense, one incident is hardly reason to write off the whole company. They’ve done amazing things for the medical community.”

“Ah.” Miriam strolled over to his files and began rifling through them, when Flech started to protest she raised her head and silenced him with a look. “Interesting, it seems that you’ve already starting testing with it. And with Voidomiencine as well. And Datrecks and Plasmrice. Goodness, you’ve got half of Daggett’s pharmacy here.”

“Well, I like to be proactive—

“And yet none of these drugs are actually out on the market? None of them have been declared safe by the FDA?”

Flech adjusted his tie, “Not as such no, but then these—

“So in other words, you are providing Dagget with human test subjects. Interesting. And very illegal.” Miriam finally looked up at him, eyes hard. “Listen to me very, very carefully. You will, right now, make a list of all the patients in the Asylum. You will give me a detailed medical history of all of them, including any experimental medicines that you have subjected them to.”

Sweat had begun to bead on Flech’s forehead, “That—that could take a while.”

Miriam sat down, “I can wait.”

* * *

"Status?"

"Japan should be finished by the end of next week."

"Detection?"

"Thus far nothing. I've double check all of my previous work. If anything changes I’ll let you know."

"Good."

* * *

"Busy?"

Miriam's head snapped up and she spun in her chair so that she was facing him.  Robin barley heard her startled exclamation.   Despite knowledge to the contrary, he saw a slightly ruffled forty year old business woman sitting before him.

"That is very impressive."  He allowed, gesturing toward her.

Miriam looked confused. "What, my ability to curse?"

Robin shook his head, "No, the illusion."

"Ah," She smiled slightly, turning back towards her laptop and the pile of papers on her desk, "I've got it running on auto pilot so to speak, I’d forgot all about it. Tell me, do you and Batman do this popping in thing often?"

"Upon occasion.  You _have_ been MIA for three days.”

Miriam sighed, half turning back to him as she ran a hand through her disheveled hair, her hand got stuck on a knot half way through and she snarled quietly. "This place is in even worse shape than I thought. I didn't even think that was possible."

"The Joys of Arkham."

"You’re not half joking. Ugh."

“Still think you’re qualified?”  Robin asked

Miriam didn’t hesitate to answer back yes and Robin was impresses in spite of himself.  He nodded, “How long do you think you’ll be out of school?”

“A week, maybe more.”  She said turning back toward her desk, rifling through a set of drawers, “Like I said, I knew it was bad, I just didn’t know it was _this_ bad.  And before I forget,” She tossed him a small bag which he caught easily, “Present.”

Robin upended the bag into his other hand; a necklace fell out, with a small ball of something attached to it. “Is this pig iron?”

“Well, aren’t we clever.”

“Miriam, why are you giving me a necklace made of pig iron?”

“It’s a good luck charm where I come from. I need all the luck I can get so I’m planning on stealing some of yours.”  Robin raised his eyebrows at her, but she ignored him.  “Did you know that the head doctor here was testing Rollan Dagget's drugs on the inmates?"  She asked.

Robin's eyes narrowed, as he tucked the necklace into his belt "No."

She waved at the piles of paper, "I've sacked him of course but it leaves me with the rather dubious question of which of the medical staff I can actually trust. I'd sack the lot of'em, but as it is nearly impossible to get medical staff out here, I can't. So instead I’m having to interview every single nurse, doctor and orderly and ask them if I can trust them not to guinea pig on the inmates when I’m not around." She rolled her eyes.

"Couldn’t they just lie about it?"

Miriam waved it away, "Ever try to lie to a psychic?"

"Ah."

"Exactly, but it's taking fucking forever. Thus far I’ve sacked about two thirds of the medical staff.  And Goddess knows if I’ll be able to find replacements.” She shook her head sadly, and then took a deep breath, shaking it off, “So what have you been up to?"

Robin shrugged, "nothing spectacular."

"Says the boy sitting on my windowsill wearing a cape. I have to confess I’m quite looking forward to meeting Batman, the inmates seem quite stuck on him."

"You've started treating them already? That was fast."

She shook her head, "Aside from reviewing their medical files and pulling them off anything that was created by Dagget, no. But I listen to the chatter."

"He has that affect on people."

Miriam nodded absently, shifting through her files. She blinked fuzzily and finally threw down the one that she was holding, "ok, that's it. I'm taking a break. I've been eating out of vending machines for the last three days. Food is called for. Real food. That does not come in packets." She glanced over at him, “Do you have time to get something to eat?"

"Not right now I’m on duty. Sorry."

"Spoil sport. What time do you get off?"

Robin considered it; it had been a slow night. "Tell you what, how do you feel about pizza?"

*  *  *

Miriam was sitting on the roof when Robin swung back into view, pizza box in hand. They settled down, pizza box between them and munched quietly.

Miriam broke the silence, "Does it get weird? Living the dual lives?"

Robin thought about it for a moment, "it used to, when my dad was still alive.”The silence sounded very loud all of a sudden. They were quiet for a long while, "So, does your Uncle know about all this?" He indicated the rooftop.

"Yeah, of course." She chuckled at the look of surprise on his face, "It's easier to tell him than to not.” She stared at the ground for a few moments and then asked, “How did your da die?”

Robin took a deep breath, “He was . . . murdered. A few months back.”

“Oh, Tim.  I’m so very sorry.” She sounded like she really meant it, and not in the abstract way that Robin had come to expect from strangers sharing obligatory remorse on his behalf.

“Did you lose someone?”  He guessed.

She nodded, “My mum. She was . . .” Miriam closed her eyes, and blew out along breath, “she was tortured to death. While I was made to watch. It was . . .” she shook her head sharply.

“Oh my God.”  Robin said on a gust of breath, “Miriam I’m so sorry.”

She glanced over at him, tears formed behind in her eyes but failed to fall, “this helps, to be honest.” She indicated the roof top of Arkham “It’s nice to feel like I’m doing something. Like I’m making a difference. And it keeps me from thinking too much.”

Robin nodded in compete understanding. “Do you know why she was . . .”

There was a sharp intake of breath, “Yes. Because of me.”

“Miriam . . .”

She shook her head, “No Tim, it’s true. They were trying . . . to get to me. And, and it worked for a little while.” She turned her head away and changed subjects abruptly "So have you told Batman that I know?"

"No. But I should."

 “Why don’t you?” She shoved down a moment of panic, she hadn’t…she hadn’t _made_ Tim not say anything?  Had she?  Not on purpose she knew, but sometimes, when she wanted something…and she wanted Tim to like her…to trust her.  She shoved the thought away.

Robin hesitated for a long moment, finally he said, “at the moment, it’s not pertinent.  That’s subject to change.”  He warned.

She reached over and pulled him into a sideways hug, "You are a good guy, you know that Tim? I tell you what, if you're upset by it and if you think it will cause problems then I give you my blessing to tell him. I really don't want to make things harder for you."

He blinked at her in surprise, "really?"

"Sure.”  She said emphatically, “I want you to _always_ do what _you_ think is best.  Anyway, you’ve been trying to trace me, right? He won't have any more luck than you've had."

Robin ducked his head, "Sorry. Habit."

"It’s ok. But I warn you, you might as well give up, because you're not going to get anywhere. As far as the UK is concerned we don't exist."

"Who is 'we'?"

She hesitated, looking back up at the sky, somewhere up there were stars, she hadn't seen them since coming to this city. She was suddenly swamped with a homesickness that she hadn't felt in a long while, “have you ever heard of the idea of the multiverse?"

"Multiple worlds all existing at the same time? Yeah. Theoretically everything that can ever happen has or will happen somewhere."

"Got it in one. So," She looked over at him, "you really want to hear this?" Robin nodded, "Alright, but it’s going to sound a bit on the melodramatic side,” she warned, “because that's how I always heard it. So,” she cleared her throat looking slightly self conscious, “In the beginning, as they say, when this world was very young and man was just starting to pull himself up and start thinking that cooked food might be a dietary advantage, there were creatures that ruled this world. They've had a lot of different names over the years." Miriam squinted thoughtfully, "I think the name that you'd be most familiar with is the Fae?"

"Fairies and elves?"

Miriam looked irritated, "Something like that. Only somewhere along the way someone—Tolkien—got the idea that they're nice. They weren't and they aren't. They are extraordinarily vicious creatures. Cunning, selfish and very, very dangerous. Not particularly bright, mind you, but more dangerous than anything you will ever encounter. Honestly they make the Arkham inmates look like boy scouts. The Fae lived for personal pleasure, often, even especially, at the expense of others. Eventually, when mankind had built enough mud huts to attract their attention the Fae began to demand worship. They stole children, they mandated human sacrifice, and they even hunted humans for sport. So— the story goes— that out of desperation all the shamans from the different tribes gathered together to confront the Fae. In the final confrontation they were able to bind the Fae to another plane, another world. It was a bitter struggle and most of the shamans involved died. I think about ten out of something like three hundred managed to survive. It was horrible. The few that were left remained at the Joining Point to prevent the Fae from returning. The world changed and life went on and civilizations rose and fell. We stayed, in our tiny patch of the world, nurturing our magic, guarding the thankless world from the Fae, and ignoring you guys." She smiled at him, "The reason that you can't find the place on any map is because it is so well warded that no one outside of our little group can get within a hundred miles of it. They simply turn around and go another way. They don't question why. They don't even realize that they've done it. So that's where I’m from. That's where my uncle is from. That's why you can't find anything on us because there isn't anything to find. There are no records; there aren't over 10,000 of us in the city." She paused for a moment, the smile slipping off her face as a shiver ran through her. She cleared her throat, "So, there ya go. Like I said, I’ve always thought it was a bit silly but that's how my,” her voice hitched, “that’s how my mum always told it." Miriam stopped and looked back up at the sky.

After a long silence Robin managed,"…huh."

"Ridiculous, right?  A now you think I’m mad."

Robin laughed, and Miriam felt the pain in her chest ease. "No. Not really, I’ll have to introduce to you to Raven some time, I think you two would have a lot in common. Or maybe my best friend, Conner, who’s a clone of the last surviving man of the kriptonian race.

"Come again?"

"Superboy"

"Ah.  Hey!  That reminds me, I saw you on the telly the other day. Tolliver's school of excellence my ass."

Robin looked momentarily lost at the non sequitur and then laughed, "Right, no I don't attend an enrichment school on the weekends.  I’m a member of the Teen Titians."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, "You should come along, you're certainly 'super powered' enough to fit right in."

"Yeah, um, nooo.   I don't do spandex."

"You don’t do spandex. You'll wear a studded collar and jack boots but you draw the line at spandex."

"Everyone has to have a line somewhere. That's mine. No, you go off and save the world.  I’ll just stay here and mind the fort. It's what we do."

"You and Oracle would also get along."  Miriam spit coke at him. "Ooooo-kay, that was also unexpected," Robin said, grabbing a fistful of napkins and wiping coke of his tunic, “and how do you know Oracle?"

"Nuh-uh. It is definitely my turn."

Robin sighed but nodded.

"So how long have you been doing this?"

"Since I was fourteen."

"Wow. And you were giving me shite about my age. Hypocrite.” Robin rolled his eyes under his mask, “So is Batman in the habit of taking on underage apprentices?"

"Yes actually, I’m the third."

Miriam blinked. "What seriously?  How does he find you blokes, take out an advert in the paper?"

"Actually, I found him." Robin replied, looking smug, "I figured out who he was."

"Really? So since I figured out who _you_ are does that mean I get to be _your_ side kick?"

"Wha-no. Well, not unless you want to be. I could use a secretary."

"Ha. ha."

“So what made you decide that you wanted to become . . . um, what is it they call you again?”

“Robin?”

“No, no the other thing.”

“The boy wonder?”  Tim asked on a sigh.

“Yeah,” she snickered, “that.”

Robin ignored the snicker with patients borne of long suffering practice, “Batman needs a Robin. The Robin before me died, he was killed by the Joker. I wanted to help. It took a little bit of convincing on Batman’s part, he took the last Robin’s death very personally, truthfully he takes everything personally, but we work well together.”

“Oh good, that’ll be a fun session with the Joker. Yet another thing to work on.” She eyed him questioningly, “you know a lot could be said about the mental state of a man who dresses up as a giant bat and convinces others to do likewise. I’m guessing trauma, of a severe and—some would argue—irrevocable nature.”

“And that is why we don’t tell people.”

Miriam shrugged, “So you believe that his behavior is completely normal and has no outside stimulus beyond that of Gothem being, well Gothem?”

“Miriam, for your safety and mine, don’t try to psychoanalysis Batman.”

“Why not, he sounds like he could use some help.”

“What he does is important.” Robin answered back, bristling slightly.

Miriam regarded him skeptically, “And helping him with his psychosis will prevent him from being Batman? From helping people? Interesting. So what you’re saying is that in order to be Batman he has to be unhappy?”

Robin hesitated, “He wouldn’t thank you for interfering.”

“Neither will the people downstairs. Not at first anyway. But I believe in helping people, even if they think they don’t need it.” After a moment she added, “Often especially if they don’t think they need it.”

Miriam glanced down at her watch and sighed, "I've got to get going, I should finish up loading the last of the files. And I have to take a shower; I’ve got a meeting with the board at seven."

"Were you planning on sleeping at some point?"

"Pot, kettle"

Unbecoming:  
Chapter Four.

The Joker faced the front of his cell. Two days. Two days and the world had turned upside down. He was thinking more clearly at the moment, because someone had failed to administer his dreaded tranquilizers and the enormity of the situation had started to filter through. Apparently he wasn't the only one who was experiencing unusual clarity within the walls of Arkham; he'd asked around and a lot of people had been pulled off medications. The asking around had been made more difficult by the fact that he'd been escorted by two armed guards everywhere that he went. He'd seen armed guards making rounds outside his cell but he’d yet to determine a pattern, and if he shoved himself against the glass and strained his eyes he could see men and women positioned on either end of the hallway. He recognized none of them. Over the years he'd become extraordinarily familiar with the guard staff at Arkham, he knew which to avoid and which to bribe, which he could safely annoy and which would land him in the infirmary. Now he was going to have to learn everything all over again. He wanted out! This was a fucking nightmare! Harley had told him that there were two guards on every door in Arkham, even the showers and the laundry. There was nowhere they could go that was not supervised. Batman was behind this. He had to be. Only he could cause him so much misery. And eventually when he figured out how the hell to get out of here, he'd return the favor. With interest.

* * *  
Miriam glanced at her watch. He was late. The emergency board meeting to suspend both Flech and Weiss pending a full investigation and to install Marshall as temporary Head of Security had gone flawlessly. Really the only people left to vote were herself, Terry, and Bruce. Terry had been authorized to vote by proxy for Hemingway, who said that the golfing was indeed wonderful in Scotland this time of year. It had been a done deal before she even entered the room. Sweet, sweet victory. Bruce had surprised her by asking to meet for lunch. She had tried to guess what he was after but unlike most, his mind was incredibly well controlled. Playboy billionaire – bullshit. Only if he's been playing with the Dalai Lama.

"Sorry about that," Wayne said as he slid into the seat opposite, "I got caught up unexpectedly."

Miriam smiled. "Don't worry I’ve only just gotten here myself."

"I must say that I was a little surprised by your aggressiveness with Flech and Weiss. Most of the previous directors thought them quite capable."

"Most of the previous directors were idiots."

The sides of Bruce's mouth twitched upwards. "I'm not saying that I don't approve, I was just surprised." His face darkened. "How did you find out that Flech was using drugs from Daggett?"

“Honestly? Initially it was a guess based on his background. But once I went through his records, it was obvious. He wasn’t even trying to hide anything, the last director, as you know, had something of a ‘hands off’ approached that tended to be abused. My guess is that he was keeping the records so that he could make reports back to Daggett. I confiscated them, as I mentioned at the meeting, and I will go through them more carefully once I’ve got the time. I can make a full report then.”

Wayne nodded approvingly. “What did you mean about his background?”

“Previously he was the head of Roland Daggett’s experimental medical research division.”

“ _He was what?_!”  Wayne barked his outrage seemingly genuine. 

Miriam blinked in surprise at his reaction and then replied, “He was the head of Dagget’s medical research division. Didn’t you know?”

“ _No_!”  Wayne looked furious, “How on earth did you find out?”

 “I research all the staff before applying for a job, especially for a job of such magnitude.”

Wayne took a deep breath, regaining his calm. “I’m sorry for my outburst. I just don’t know how something like that could have happened. I- thank you for catching it.”

Miriam shrugged, “It’s my job. There will be much more to come I’m certain. As I remarked to Terry, Arkham is broken. I intend to fix it. It will take time, and,” she smiled at him, “money. But now that I’ve gotten rid of two the most untrustworthy individuals I believe that we’ll be able to see a return of cash flow.”

“Embezzlement?”

“Mmm, on a rather grand scale. Hemingway was taking his cut – he’s next on the list to be gotten rid of by the way, once I’ve got the proof better organized – Flech and Weiss as well. Then there was the stealing of drugs to sell on the black market, about one third of the medical department to blame there. The list goes on and on and I’ve only been here for four days. But I do owe you an apology, Mr. Wayne Arkham is indeed very generously funded, it was just very badly managed.”

Wayne looked shaken, deeply. “I had no idea. I thought, I mean all institutions have problems, and I know that it’s been hard to keep staff there. I just never thought—” he shook his head. “Clearly, I haven’t been paying enough attention.  Anything that you need, name it, and it’s yours. I cannot thank you enough for doing this.”

She watched him, hating that she couldn’t tell if it was all an act or not. He could have known, she just couldn’t be sure and it rankled. She hated to have to guess at peoples true motives. It always left her at a disadvantage because she so rarely ever had to do it. Finally she gave up and took it at face value; it didn’t really matter one way or another.

“Thank you. I’ll have a list for you in the morning.”

* * *  
Robin slogged through yet another sewer. He paused momentarily at a junction to leave a trail marker and link it up with the scanner in his hand then ploughed on. He was after McAlister's drug ring again. After much digging on both his and Oracle's part, they had been able to scare up the name and address of one other warehouse that belonged to McAlister, under the assumed name of Frank Morgan. Tracing the name of Frank Morgan had given him three other warehouses, the first two had been empty, this was the third. By tracing the shipping and receiving entries it looked as if they were receiving six shipments a month that were not accounted for beyond their entry into the warehouse. It was a promising, if slim lead and Robin wasn't taking any chances. By coming up from underneath he was sure that he wouldn't be tripping any security systems. He needed to know more about McAlister's set-up, because he had to find a way to link him directly to the drug ring to get a conviction to stick.  
   
He paused under a grate cover as the sounds of voices drifted towards him. After listening for a moment he determined that he was directly under the warehouse’s receiving bay. He waited until the voices moved away and then jumped up and caught hold of the rungs of the grate, pulling himself up and glancing around. The bay was enormous and poorly lit, the other side lost in gloom, making it impossible to tell if the bay was empty or not. Robin took a small black ball from his belt and sent it rolling towards the other end of the bay. He dropped silently and waited until the ball had stopped rolling, then pulled up the images it relayed on his scanner. The ball worked as radar that was calibrated to pick up human bio-readouts. Scanning twice, and finding nothing, he jumped back up and checked the other direction. Clear as well. Now came the tricky part; jumping back up, he grabbed the grate one-handed and began unscrewing it, making sure that he paused to catch the screws before they could splashed down into the sludge below. Once he was through he replaced the grate soundlessly and moved off toward the loading bay office. He combed through the files for over two hours, copying anything that might be useful. He paused twice, at sounds of distant voices but remained undetected; finally he glided back towards the grate.

  
*

  
God I will never be clean again, Robin groused mentally as he climbed back onto his bike, he tapped his ear piece, asking, <Oracle?>

She responded almost immediately. <Oracle here, how did it go?>

<Fine. I'm heading back to the cave to put the data through the computer>

<Keep me updated.>

* * *

  
Three weeks. It had taken her three weeks to get Arkham operational. They had minimal – but reliable – staff. She had been able, largely due to Allen and Terry's help, to get the clerical and payroll staff updated and organized. The medical staff had been more difficult but at this point after she had cajoled, begged and pleaded, and she hopped to the great God not influenced him in any other way, she had finally managing to convince one of the top diagnosticians to take the position of Head of Medicine. He had been reviewing patient’s files for three weeks solid and they now had a working diagnosis of each of the inmates. Medicine had been distributed accordingly. Announcements about the changes had been made; the inmates had been moved to different cells based on their needs. Harley and the Joker had been put on opposite ends of the Asylum – whatever idiot decided to put them together needed to be shot. Finally, she was ready to being working on the inmates themselves, the whole reason she'd started this to begin with. She had deliberated over whom to begin with. She really wanted to work with the Joker, but she thought it might be better for PR to show some progress and Harley would be much, much easier. And Harvey would certainly make a political splash. She pulled up the three files, weighing her options.

* * *

  
The Joker had landed himself in the infirmary after pulling a stunt with one of the guards. Apparently they couldn't take a joke. Figures. He shifted uncomfortably trying to scratch an itch through the plaster of his cast when two guards entered the room.

"Now what?” he growled, “Didn't get enough the first time, come back for more?" The bravado sounded false even in his own ears, so he shut up. His arm hurt, he was tired and disoriented. All he really wanted to do was sleep.

"You're to go for counseling." One of them rumble, his accent making him difficult to understand. The Joker had noticed that most of the guards seemed to be from out of the country. England, maybe or at the very least sounded that way. They unlocked him from the infirmary bed and once he'd been shackled properly he was escorted to the third floor counseling room. He knew this place, he thought distantly; this was where he'd met Harley. He was deposited unceremoniously on the couch, the shackles were removed and he was suddenly alone. Truly alone. He took a deep breath, reveling in it. He glanced around the room; it had changed a bit since he'd been here last. True, the last time was a bit of a blur on account of the fact that he had just blown a hole in the wall and was winging his way towards sweet, sweet freedom, but still he was pretty sure there had been a desk in the corner.

"Hello Joker."

The Joker's head snapped around and he blinked back a wave of nausea, no sudden movements, got it. "Oh, you again.  The Queen of the Brat pack returns."

"Yes." She frowned at his arm. "What happened?"

Pity. _Oooo_ , he could work with this. He batted his eyelashes and worked up the sob in his throat, annoyingly, it wasn't too difficult. "I'm afraid one of the guards got a bit rough." He made a show of clearing his throat and blinking rapidly. "Happens around here, you know." He waved theatrically with his good hand. "absolute power and all that . . ."

She regarded him skeptically. "Really."

Hmmm, that wasn't _quite_ the tone that he'd been going for; perhaps he'd laid it on a little too thick. "I don't expect you to care." He sniffed.

She rolled her eyes. "I _do_ care that you've been hurt, I don't care to be lied to."

The Joker looked indignant. "I'm not lying! One of your infernal guards broke my damn arm. Go look at the med files if you don't believe me!"

"I believe that they broke your arm, I just don't believe that it was unprovoked."

"Well, it wasn't."

"Again with the lying."

The Joker sighed dramatically. "I'm _not_ lying. Look, like I said, I don't expect you to believe me. You people always side with one another."

Miriam smiled. "You're very good. If I didn't know better, I'd be ready to flay my guard staff alive." She shook her head. "We'll leave that alone for the time being shall we?"

"Whatever," he muttered angrily.

She took a seat opposite of him. "Now Joker, I want you to tell me what you remember about your life before you became the Joker."

Ah, familiar territory at least. "Well," he turned his head away, his tone becoming mournful, "my dad used to beat me up pretty bad-"

"The truth, please."

The Joker's head whipped around, his mouth falling open. "W- I'm baring my soul here, kid! You could at least give me the respect due!"

"You're _lying_ , Joker. I have no interest in lies. So I'll ask again. What do you remember about your life before you became the Joker?"

The Joker crossed his arms stubbornly, the effect only slightly marred because of the cast. "Fuck off. I was talking.  You didn't want to hear it."

Miriam nodded; she leaned back in her seat, eyes on his. "Can you remember?"

The Joker’s eyes flared wide in momentary panic. "Shut the fuck up."

"So you _can't_ remember."

"Are you deaf kiddo? I _told_ you, my dad beat me. My mom ran off. Now leave me the fuck alone."

"Do you _want_ to remember?"

"I _can_ remember, you twat."

"I can help you to remember, if you want. I can give you back your past."

How could she _know_? _No one_ knew. This wasn't possible, he'd never told anyone! "Bitch,” his voice dropped menacingly, as he leaned forward, “when I get out of here, you are going to be very, very sorry. Do you hear me? I don't know who you've been talking to but nobody messes with the Joker and lives," He moved to strike her, but his hand jerked to a stop inches from her eyes," He was unable to move it, or, he realized a moment later any other part of his body. She watched him, a neutral expression on her face, “If I release you are you going to behave?” She asked finally.

The Joker scowled at her and tried to force himself to move.  Just to pull back his arm, or turn his head.  Nothing. 

Miriam sighed, "We'll pick this up tomorrow." She leaned forward, ducking around the Joker’s out stretched hand, and pressed the call button on the table in front of her. "Simons, if you could come retrieve the Joker please."

"How- how are you doing this?" The white rage had burned away, leaving him hollow and aching. He felt like he'd just gone a couple rounds with Bats. He shivered, the familiar numbness stealing over him.

"I'm complicated.” She added, “You can’t put your arm down now." 

He pulled his good arm into his chest, cradling it against his body. “Just what this freakshow needed,” The Joker barked, “A loony in the head office.  You’ll fit right in.”

She nodded, "I do feel a certain connection, it’s one of the reasons I’m trying to help you lot.  And, just so you know, the offer stands. I can help you remember. I can give it all back to you any time you want. All you have to do is ask."

The Joker shook his head, denying her or the possibility he didn't know. He was so tired; all he wanted to do was sleep. When the guards showed up he went quietly, ignoring Harvey, escorted by two guards of his own, waiting in the hallway.

*  
“I wish you wouldn’t do this."

_NO!_

The Joker looked at the woman, her eyes bright with unshed tears and blinked, "No . . .I . . ." What the hell?

"Please, there has to be another way. We could leave Gotham . . .or— there must be something!"

 _Hello again_.  Miriam called.

_Please, please kill me. Just make it stop!_

Leave Gotham? He couldn't leave Gotham, it was, well there was a reason, he just couldn't think of it right now. Revenge. Yeah, that was it, revenge.

 _I’m going to make it stop,_ Miriam promised him _, but I need your name._  
   
The Joker focused on her swelling belly, a boy, he though suddenly, but couldn't think why.

_No NO no NO no NO kill me! Kill me NOW! I can’t do this anymore!_

"Please."

 _Your name._ Miriam cajoled, _just tell me your name, I will fix this!_

There was a shift and suddenly he stood over a hissing vat of acid.

 _Oh God, not again_ . . . _please_ the voice sobbed _no more._

_I will make it stop. Just give me your name and I will make it stop._

The rising vapor from the vat made his eyes water. He could hear the sounds of gun fire in the distance. He should leave, things had gone wrong. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Then he was falling, the acid was rushing closer, and he was screaming . . . _JACK_!

Miriam pulled back just in time. Seated cross legged outside the Joker's cell she watched as he struggled towards consciousness. Jack. The answer to everything was in that dream. The Joker sat up and staggered towards the water dispenser in the cell, lapping noisily. Miriam had made sure that the wards were in place this time; she didn't need to panic him. If he truly thought she was stalking him it might make things a bit more difficult.

She got silently to her feet and headed towards Harvey’s cell. His visit had gone surprisingly well. The medication that Greg had him on was working beautifully. She would call Dr. Vonblasingame in the morning. As the top plastic surgeon in the country – some would argue the world – he would be able to equal out Harvey’s appearance. Restoring his physical appearance was the key to Harvey’s psychosis. Why the other doctors had tried to work from the other way round was beyond her. She needed to give Harvey the home advantage over Two-Face, with the split in his physically appearance mended, it would become that much easier to heal the mental divide. She upped the estimation for the completion of the project, six months, if that. His was just barely below the surface. Regular psychologists had made wonderful progress with him; she'd have him running for mayor again in two years time. And who knew, she smiled to herself, in this city, he might even win.

  
* * *

  
"Status?"

Black gloved hands fiddled nervously with the keyboard, "Um…"

"Status!"

" _Fine_! fine, I just— I’m having more trouble with Western Europe than I'd anticipated."

"Meaning?" The voice was deadly quiet.

"That, that we may be delayed by a month. I'm sorry! I'm trying, I really am but this – this is huge what you're asking-"

"And you assured me that you were more than adequate to the task," the voice hissed.

"I am! I am! But- but I just need more time, I can do this, I swear! But one month, maybe two, at the very most!"

"You have one month, beyond that there will be no leniency. Know that my partner will not be pleased."

"Thank you, oh god thank you. I will, you'll see, everything will be perfect. Thank you."  
   
* * *  
   
"Burning the midnight oil?"

Miriam’s hands slammed down on her keyboard, the computer beeping at her in reprimand. She whirled around to be confronted by a shadowy figure hunched on her windowsill, a mind like a steel ball and – _Oh!_ Oh my goddess.   _Bruce Wayne_.

"I, um, that is-" _Shit shit shit!_   Miriam gabbled mentally, _so not good_.  _So Not. Good._     _Bruce Wayne_ was Batman.  _Breathe_ , she hissed at herself, _breathe_!  _Calm, be calm, he doesn’t know.  He can’t know. Unless Tim told him.  Ugh._  She took a deep breath and then cleared her throat.  She was _extremely_ proud when her voice didn’t shake. "You people have a very nasty habit of doing that."

"What people?"

"Robin dropped by earlier,” She replied, trying for bland.   He didn’t react to the sop and she assumed that Tim hadn’t said anything. Her mind was racing as information slammed into place. Bruce Wayne: parents murdered in front of him before he hit the double digits. No other family, raised by a butler. Isolated due to status and privilege. Yup that'd do it.  This explained the way his mind was so controlled and closed off. "So, the inestimable Batman makes his appearance at last."

"I like what you've done with the place."

"Thank you.” She replied, genuinely pleased, “So what can I do for you?"

"Why are you at Arkham?"

Miriam regarded him for a moment, trying to determine what was going through his head, finally she gave up, it was useless. "Because someone needs to be." She answered back.

"I've looked over your credentials, you'd be better off at a hundred different institutions. Why here, why now?"

"Why not?” She shrugged. “So tell me, what drives a full-grown man to dress up like a giant bat and fight crime?"

"We're not talking about me."

"We are now. I'm guessing childhood trauma. Someone dear to you was victimized and you wanted vengeance?"

"Why Arkham, Miriam?"

Miriam eyed him speculatively; he was the same ball of viciously controlled emotions that she'd met on her first day here. Most people projected their thoughts so loudly that she actively had to put up her own blocks against them. With him it was like hitting a wall: nothing in and nothing out. Unless she was willing to actually go into his mind without permission – something she would not do – she was out of luck. "Honestly? Because the way that this city was treating these people was disgusting and I wanted to do something about it. Why bats?"

Batman, a smirk forming on his lips, replied, "They go with my eyes." And then he was gone.

  
*

  
The next day at school Miriam grabbed Tim and drug him into the nearest closest. "Wh- Miriam?”

 "Batman is Bruce Wayne! _Bruce Wayne_! For pity's sake Tim, you could have warned me. He sits on the damned council!"

"I couldn't tell you, Miriam. It wasn't for me to tell. So, does he know that you know?"

"No." She slumped against the wall. "What was I supposed to say?"

Tim shrugged. "I have no idea."

"I take it you haven’t told him about me?"

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, no."

"Great. Well, at least we can go down together." She snickered suddenly at the unintended innuendo and Tim rolled his eyes.

"Is there ever a time when you aren't thinking of sex?"

"Give me a break. I haven't gotten laid in weeks.  I’m dying here."

"You poor thing."

"Oh shut up." She glanced at her watch as they emerged from the closet to catcalls and whistles. Miriam waved jauntily and then turned back to Tim. "Do you have time for food? I haven't eaten."

"Yeah, sure. What are we going to do about him?" he asked as they crossed the green towards the cafe.

"I don't know. I think we should just leave it alone for the time being. Not because that's really a good idea, mind, but because I’ve got way too much to do right now. How is your work with the drug ring coming?"

"I found a warehouse, I’ve been running the information through the cave computer-"

"'Cave'?"

"Batcave."

"Oh my Gods, really? _Wow_ you guys take this theme thing really seriously." Tim rolled his eyes and Miriam contrived to look apologetic, "So you ran the info through the computer . . .”

He glared at her, "Yes, and I’ve got a network that I can work with. I’m going to start cross-referencing and see if I can pick up a pattern. Problem is, I don't know if I can pin anything on McAlister."

Miriam stopped. "McAlister? Why do I know that name?"

Tim looked startled. "You do? From where?"

Miriam shook her head in frustration. "I have no idea. I've been slogging through so much data the last few weeks it's lucky I still remember my own name." She rubbed her forehead wearily. "I'll run a search when I get back to work."

"Thanks."

"Sure. I'm not promising anything,” Miriam warned as she took her place in line at the cafeteria, "but I’ll do my best.”

 * * *

  
“In addition to the fee, we will, of course, pay for all travel and lodging expenses for the entire duration of the surgery,” Miriam coaxed.

“Dr. Alexander, I appreciate your plight, I really do, but people who work on Arkham inmates have a nasty habit of ending up dead. I’m sorry I just can’t.”

“Dr. Vonblasingame, I promise you that you will be entirely safe. No one will even know who you are. Your real name will not be used at any time during your stay. Mr. Wayne, who will be paying the bill, and myself will be the only people with any knowledge of your true identity. There will be more armed guards per square inch of the operating room than shiny metallic objects. I need you Doctor. No one else will be able to do this and it has to be perfect. Please, you are literally this man’s last hope for a normal life. He deserves that.”

“Dr. Alexander . . .”

“I won’t take no for an answer, Doctor. I promise you the best accommodations that Gotham has to offer, and the fee for this will allow you to retire and live lavishly for the rest of your life.”

Miriam smiled as she heard him sigh. “Send the details to my secretary.”

“They’ve already been sent. I’ll contact you tomorrow about transportation arrangements. Do you have any traveling preferences?”

“First class?”

“Doctor, I’m sending you your own jet.”

  
*

  
“Bruce Wayne, please.”

“Just one moment, who may I say is calling?”

“Dr. Miriam Alexander.”

There was a pause as the line was transferred. “Miriam, how are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m going to need 20 million dollars.”

“Good lord why?”

“Because it was the only way that I could get Dr. Edward Vonblasingame to agree to operate on Harvey Dent.”

“Operate? What? When?”

“Sometime next week. The 20 million is his fee, additionally we’ll need to fund his air fare – I thought that we’d just send your jet – and a hotel. What is the nicest hotel in Gotham?”

“The Prince Royal on Broad and Westchester. Wait, you’re having someone operate on Harvey, have you made that much of a breakthrough already?!”

“It’s amazing what can happen when people are properly diagnosed and given the correct medication. Yes.”

“That’s fantastic! When did you need the money?”

“Tomorrow or the next day, as soon as possible really. I need to get the account number that we’re going to wire it into. As part of the deal I made to get him out here, no one is to know his real name or why he’s here. We’re going to wire half of the money directly into his account, when he’s finished the surgery, we’ll wire the other half. He’ll be traveling under the name of Marc Stephen. Normally I’d say that we should just let our admins sort it, but we can’t because of the confidentiality clause.”

“Alright. I’ll have the money by ten am tomorrow. Once you have the account give me a call and I’ll put the transfer through.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

“You’re welcome. And Miriam,”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

  
* * *

  
“Any luck?”

Robin glanced up from the console. “Yeah, I’ve managed to lock down a pattern. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to pinpoint the timing of the next shipment. As it is I’ve been able to identify the warehouse that house the drugs and the ones that don’t. I’m planning to make a run tonight just to double check.”

Bruce nodded. “Glad to hear it.” He tugged up the cowl. “I’m heading out; let me know if need any help.”

Robin ran a few more traces then headed towards his bike, his phone ringing as he did so. “Yes?”

“Hey Tim, it's Miriam. I ran McAlister’s name through my system. I was right, I did know him. He’s been selling drugs to Flech.”

“That’s fantastic. Do you have anything that ties him to the drug shipments?”

“Um…” He could hear her shuffling papers. “Truth be told, I have no idea. I’ve got pages of hard copy here, the only thing that I’ve found are notes made by Flech referring to times of McAlister’s drug drops and results of tests. You’re welcome to swing by and go through them, but I’ve got a session in fifteen minutes.”

“That sounds great. Thanks Miriam.”

  
*

  
A half an hour later Robin was sifting through the piles of files and patient’s journals left behind by Flech. Robin would say this for the man; he was organized if nothing else. Time of shipment arrival, to whom the medicine was given, time of injections, symptoms, and outcome. Pages of the stuff. Every time Robin was about to give it up as a waste of time, he found some small note mentioning a meeting with McAlister to discuss fees or changes to the shipment size or inventory and kept going. So far it was very one sided; he’d found nothing from McAlister to Flech and he very much doubted the Flech was going to testify. But at least it meant that McAlister was directly involved and that there was a chance that he could pin him at one of the sites again.

  
* * *

“How’s the arm?”

The Joker glared at her. “It hurts.”

“Mmm.”

“What’s that?”

“This? This is the report that officer Brigs made about the incident with your arm. What is a ‘judo chop like motion’?”

“Oh.” The Joker cleared his throat noisily looking in the other direction. “Um, I saw Bats do it once, I thought it might work.”

“Ah. Officer Brigs has been moved to another assignment.”

The Joker looked around. “You fired him?”

“No, I assigned him elsewhere. Clearly you don’t get along. There’s no reason to antagonize either of you. Now,” she said taking her seat, “picking up where we were last time. Can you remember anything before you became the Joker?”

“Oh Kid” The Joker said mournfully as if she’d let him down, “I told you-”

“Ah,” Miriam held up a finger, “I’ll make you a deal. You are welcome to tell me you don’t want to tell me, you are welcome to tell me to fuck off, what you are not allowed to do is lie. When you lie you go back to your cell. Immediately. If you don’t lie, then you’ll get some breathing room.”

The Joker arched an emerald eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“You don’t like the new security. You don’t like having people watching you and with you all the time. You play ball with me and I’ll let you stay in here, unattended, for the equal amount of time that your session lasts.”

The Joker eyed her for a long moment, finally nodding. He could live with that, if it got the damn guards to leave him alone then he was more than capable of sitting here and saying nothing for _years_. “Alright kiddo, I’ll play. No lying, as of now.” He gave her his best Joker smile – he was gonna enjoy killing this bitch.

Miriam smiled. “Wonderful. Now what can you remember about your life before you became the Joker?”

“You sound like a broken record.  And I know broken,” the Joker cackled, “you might want to get that looked at.”

Miriam didn’t respond, she just sat there waiting, her eyes on his. The Joker started to fidget, he looked around the room. “What happened to the desk that used to be in here?”

“The one that you carved a smiley face into? I sold it on eBay.”

He hooted with laughter. “Seriously?”

“Sure.” Miriam grinned. “I made a fortune. In fact it bought the couch that you’re sitting on.”

“Why? Because I carved a face in it? Hell anybody could have done that.”

Miriam laughed. “Yeah, I know. But people are strange.”

He’d start by making her smile permanent, ear to ear. “So are we so strapped for cash that you have to sell off the furniture?” The Joker enquired sweetly.

“Mmmm.” She took a sip of her water. “Flech and Weiss were taking a pretty big chunk. Now that they're gone it shouldn’t be a problem, but I didn’t want to ask for money for something as frivolous as a couch.”

“I can’t believe that you got rid of Flech, I thought that bastard would be here forever.”  The Joker said, impressed in spite of himself.

“Funny, he seemed to think that same thing.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet he did.” The Joker hooted, “To have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.  So, where are you from?”

Another sip of water. “I’m from out west, one of the square ones.”

The Joker whose knowledge of geography was microscopically detailed in regard to Gotham and just microscopic regarding everywhere else, shrugged uninterested, and tried again, “So what about your family. Hmmmm? Did you get along with you parents? Siblings? Let me guess you’re the youngest of six and had to work extra hard to get mommy and daddy to pay attention to you.”

“Oldest of two. Parents, also from Colorado, married for 23 years. Dad is retired and Mum works part-time at the elementary school as a secretary. ” She smiled at him. “I’m afraid that I’m very, very boring. What about you, what did your parents do?”

“Well my dad w-”

“Ah, ah.” She shook a finger at him.

The Joker blinked. “Oh, right.”  He rolled his eyes “Um, have no idea.”

Miriam nodded. “Brothers and sisters?”

The Joker could feel his stomach starting to tighten, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead just like it always did when he reached back into his mind for pictures that were never there. He shook his head. “Stop.”   He  hissed.

“Ok. How about we call it a day then? That was what?” She checked her watch. “Half an hour? So in half an hour the guards will be back to collect you.” She stopped with her hand on the door knob, “Joker, if there is anything you’d like me to have in the room for you in the future, let me know. Other than that, just don’t try to leave. See you later.”

The Joker watched her go, feeling the last presence of another person draining away and sighed happily. He got up and stretched, wandering around the room. He’d have to be careful with her. He hadn’t meant to say nearly so much. But then again, what the hell could she do really? She seemed like the genuine article, the kind that actually believed in that doctor patient privilege crap. So it was doubtful that she'd go running her mouth off and if the reward was that he’d have time that he was unsupervised . . . he began checking all the windows. He’d gotten out of this room before. He could do it again.  
   
* * *

  
<What’s up?> 

Oracle took a deep breath as the message popped up on her screen, she typed back, <<I wanted to thank you, for fixing the database. >>

<<Wait to thank me until you see my bill. >> Came the immediate response.

Oracle snorted, replying <<I read over the files that you sent me about the attempted incursions; they were extremely detailed, thank you.  How far back did you trace them? >>

<<I generally follow incursions all the way back to the site of origin in order to determine if they will be a problem in the future, it all so helps me to find new clients.>>

Oracle couldn’t tell if that last bit was tongue in cheek or not.  She was going to kill Dick and Tim for trying to hack her system. If her hacker had traced them back he could have gotten into their systems as well. Now she’d have to tell them, and subsequently Batman.  _That_ was going to be a fun conversation.  <<Just curious. >>

<liar>

<<I need to know if you hacked their systems. Two of them were friends of mine playing a joke.>> The idiots, Oracle fumed.

<<ah. Yes I was to trace them both all the way back. One expressed a level of aptitude that could have proved problematic in the future. That was case 23a, if you say that he is one of your friends then I will, of course, drop the investigation.>>

Tim, damn it. <<Yes, he’s a friend. >> For the moment.

<<understood. Anything else?>>

<<no, that’s it. Thanks. >> 

  
* * *

“Bruce, honestly, you don’t need to be here. It’ll be hours yet.”

They stood in front of the operating room on the top floor of Arkham. The entire floor had been shut down, guards were posted every twenty feet, each instructed to check and recheck ID badges. To actually get in the operating room itself, which was reinforced with bullet proof glass, required an iris and fingerprint scan. God didn’t have enough clearance to get up here at the moment. The surgical staff was the best that Arkham had to offer and even Dr. Vonblasingame a.k.a. Dr. Stephen, was having trouble finding something to complain about, something of a first for him according to his secretary.

“Harvey is one of my best friends. I want to be here.”

Miriam nodded, watching him out of the corner of her eye. The playboy billionaire cover made sense now, of course, but she still couldn’t help but marvel at how skilled he was. He didn’t even have the ability to manipulate minds like she did. She ought to ask him for lessons – of course that could get a bit awkward for all involved.

“I’ve looked over Arkham, the place looks amazing. What did you do?”

“Hmmm.” She glanced back at him. “Oh, I had the walls painted.”

“You had the walls painted,” Bruce repeated skeptically.

“You’d be surprised how many people have commented.” She grinned. “People keep saying the place looks great but they can't figure out why. I just had the walls painted a cream color instead of sterile white. It makes the place seem gentler.” She shrugged. “More importantly, it seems to be working.”

“Amazing.”

“Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a session.” She pushed the call button on the wall. “Anne, I want to know the moment that surgery is completed.”

The nurse nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

Unbecoming:  
Chapter Five.

“What have you done with Harley?”

“Good afternoon to you too. Harley was moved, weeks ago now. You’re only now noticing?”

“Well, no, at first I thought she’d escaped and just hadn’t said anything about her plans, but then . . . move her back!”

“Move an emotionally dependent personally back in range of the initial trigger of her psychosis. I’m thinking no.”

The Joker growled, feeling powerless and hating it. Slitting her throat was way too easy; he’d carve her up bit by bit, mailing little pieces back to mommy and daddy 'out west.' He giggled, now wouldn’t that be fun.

“Picking up where we left off, do you want to remember what your life was like before you became the Joker?”

The Joker, pulled momentarily from his grisly fantasy, shrugged. “It doesn’t keep me up nights.”

Miriam smiled grimly. “Should I send you back now?”

“Wha- no!  That’s not a lie!”

Miriam looked momentarily nonplussed, she squinted at him and then blinked in surprise. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what? What the hell are you talking about now?”

“Do you remember the first night that you saw me?”

“Yeah, I thought I was hallucinating again. What the fuck _were_ you doing wandering around Arkham in the middle of the night, normally that’s reserved for the loonies who live here.

“Mmmm. The reason that I was outside your cell is because you were having a knock-down drag-out nightmare. I believe that it was about the incident that made you into the Joker. You have no recollection of the dream?”

“No. No I- I don’t dream.”

Miriam’s eyebrows rose. “Never?”

“What? Lots of people don’t dream.”

“No, everyone dreams, they just can’t remember what they dreamed. With you, I’m not so sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Joker, your brain is like Swiss cheese, you have to have thought about-” She regarded him momentarily. “Ok, perhaps not, but it is a medical wonder that you can even feed yourself let alone run around and antagonize Batman. In other words, you shouldn’t be able to do what you do. You should be dead. But you can, and you’re not, so the normal laws of medicine may not apply to you.”

“Whatever.” He’d heard the whole rant before, medical miracle blah blah blah. It hadn’t impressed him then, it didn’t impress him now, beyond the fact that she seemed really excited by the idea. Maybe this was the way in. Not needy like Harley, but curious. And you know what that does to cats. He giggled happily. She wanted to understand what made him tick, and he would help her along until it bought him an opening.

“So, no, I don’t remember the dreams,” he threw her a sop, “are they important?”

“You’re talking to a blond woman. She’s pregnant.”

The Joker blinked, pregnant blond woman. Why did . . .he shook his head, blond . . .an image flashed up before his eyes independent of any connection, severed from time and space. Blond, blue eyes, purple dress and swelling belly. He saw her so clearly that she might have been standing in front of him. “She had blue eyes.”  He said, apropos of nothing.

Miriam looked pleased. “Yes. She did.”

The Joker felt ill. Oh, god, he shook his head, stop, he needed to . . .he shifted on the couch, unaware of it and of Miriam’s scrutiny, he hated these fucking holes in his memory. He didn’t want to think about this, he was the Joker, what did it matter that he couldn’t remember some bitch? A voice suddenly echoed loudly in his mind, “Do you have to go?”

He jumped up off the couch. “The fuck!” His head snapped back and forth, his pulse racing, that voice, he squeezed his eyes shut, and covered his ears, signing at the top of his voice, trying to drown out the voice, he knew that voice— he didn’t want to do this!

Distantly he heard Miriam ask, “Who is she?”

“I don’t know.” He was shaking now. “I don’t remember. I don’t _want_ to remember. Stop. Stop. STOP.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to find Miriam staring at him, concern in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push.” She handed him a glass of water. He gulped it down as if he’d just run a mile. “You aren’t hearing things,” she said as she took her seat once again. “I was hoping that would help jog your memory. That was me.”

He collapsed back down on the couch. “You thought that would . . . _what are you_?”

She watched him for a long moment. “A fellow tortured soul, just like you. I really am here to help, Joker. I know that you don’t understand right now, but you will. In time.”

“I thought you said that your life was boring.”

“I lied.”

“So you get to lie, but I don’t?” Joker harrumphed, trying to force his breathing even and to shove the feelings of panic back into the black box in his mind, “That’s hardly fair Kiddo,”

“Life often isn’t. But alright, no more lying. I still have the option to decline to comment. Did you want to go on or do you want to call it a day?”

He glanced at the clock, a half hour; surely he could make it a whole hour. For the sweet, sweet solitude that would follow, he’d risk it.

“So what about you, where are you really from?”

“Wales.”

The Joker lost interest, “Oh.  Where’s that?”

Miriam laughed. “A very long way from here. Europe.”

“Parents?”

“Dead.”

“Ah, and do you miss mommy and daddy dearest ever so very much?”

“Yes. Do you miss your memories?”

The Joker watched her, weighing his options. Finally he said, “Yes.”

“Do you want them back?”

“I . . . don’t know.”

Miriam nodded. “We could try something easier. Your name? Do you remember your real name?”

“How the hell is that supposed to be easier?” he growled at her, running a hand over his face. “No, I don’t remember it. So how did mommy and daddy die?”

Miriam smiled. “Jack.”

The Joker screwed up his face in confusion. “'Jack'? How the fuck do you die from Jack?”

“That’s your name.”

The Joker blinked. “Really. A little bird told you, did he?”

“No, you did. During the dream.”

“Now you can talk to dreams?”

“No, I believe that I was speaking with what is left of your subconscious, which, while rather laconic, provided me with that invaluable information. He says that your name is Jack. I didn’t get a last name. I’m still working on it. Once we have a last name we can research your past and figure out who you used to be.”

“Jack.” The Joker tried it out, and shrugged. “Doesn’t ring any bells. But ok, if you say so. Jack it is. Why do you even need to do the research can’t you just read my mind?”

“I could. But I’d have to put you under, it would require a deep scan, something not possible in a cursory examination.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No, not at all. But it would put you entirely in my control and not just for that short amount of time. Something that involved would bind the two of us together, linking us. It is not something entered into lightly, on either end.”

“In other words, you’d been in my control as well?” He liked the sound of this; he could hear that curious cat yowling as they spoke.

“Not in the way you’re thinking, and Jack, I know what you’re trying to do. I am psychic. I can hear you.”

The Joker look horrified. “You can HEAR what I’m thinking?”

“You have no barriers. Your mind is leaking memories and your subconscious is suicidal, that you’re trying to manipulate me is the least of my worries. I, on the other hand, have only met one other person who has better barriers than mine, and I’m beginning to think he’s not human. So should we do this, you would be at my mercy, not the other way around.”

The Joker looked very uncomfortable. So much for the element of surprise. Jesus fucking Christ, she’d known all along. No wonder she acted like she knew everything, she did. FUCK. “I’m done. Go away.”

Miriam nodded. “We’ll call it an hour for simplicity's sake.”

  
* * *

  
<Robin?> Oracle’s voice called over the radio.

<Yes?>

<Do you have a moment?>

Robin hesitated, he was currently en route to check out the next shipment of drugs to McAlister’s warehouse – he’d been trying to catch him at the scene for days now. <A few, I’m en route to the warehouse on Harvester. What did you need?>

<Do you remember when you tried to hack my computer about a month ago?>

Robin winced. He’d hoped that she hadn’t figured out it was him, but with the new security she’d installed he hadn’t gotten very far and he thought he might have tipped her. Guess he was right. <Yeah, sorry about that. Practice makes perfect and all that.>

<Right.>

She didn’t sound angry, she sounded . . . hesitant. <Oracle, I’m sorry about it, I won’t do it again. I was just working on my hacking skills> and I didn’t want you to know that I was trying to access the journal that you keep on your computer so I could try and figure out what that hell is wrong.

<It’s not that, well yes, don’t do it again, but . . .I’ve got a mystery hacker.>

<You’ve got a what?>

<A, a mystery hacker. Some guy hacked my system. He said that he could make it hacker-proof, that’s why you can’t get in anymore. He’s amazing really. His abilities are off the charts. He doesn’t- I’m careful to make sure that he doesn’t have access to anything that could tip him off to who we really are.>

<Oracle, you do realize that that is incredibly stupid.>

<Yeah> He could hear the frustration and embarrassment in her voice. <I just didn’t want to have to tell Batman that I’d been compromised.> She sighed <And now I’ve just gone and made it worse.>

<Why tell me now?>

<Because when you hacked my system, he traced you back to yours.>

<So now I’ve been compromised.>

<Yes. I’m sorry.>

<What’s done is done. So are you going to continue his service?>

<No. Maybe. I’ve been trying to back track to his location, so far I haven’t had any success.>

<Alright, let me know what you decide.>

  
*

With Miriam’s help, Robin had dropped a rumor on to the underground via Arkham that a rival gang was going to try and make a move on McAlister’s drug shipment. If Robin had sized him up correctly, then McAlister would be there to make sure that things went smoothly. Just to make sure that McAlister didn’t think that he’d been played, Robin had floated a rumor about the drug drop, making it sound like it was an encroachment on Richard Drafus’ territory. He’d be sending some boys to check it out. He doubted they would stop to have a heart to heart and hopefully he could follow McAlister back to his hideout.   Once he’d turned the evidence into the cops they could bring him in. If all went well, McAlister should be in custody by the end of the week.

Jackpot. Smile for the camera. Robin clicked away as he watched McAlister pace back and forth as they unloaded the shipments. Bodyguard number two that had attacked him on the roof had been replaced with yet another of the unending parade of well muscled Neanderthals that Gotham seem to offer up as its only saleable commodity. Maybe it was something in the water. Robin watched as McAlister barked orders at the dock workers as they unloaded. Nervous. Good, nervous men made mistakes.

Robin heard sounds in the distance- that would be Drafus’ goons, and right on time. He watched as the heads of McAlister’s men went up, alarmed by the approaching sounds. McAlister barked at them to keep working and signaled to the guard by his side. Robin’s eyes widened as a stream of black clad thugs poured out of the warehouse, armed to the teeth and heading for the approaching muscle. Fuck, this was gonna turn into a war if he didn’t do something fast. He snapped of a couple more shots of McAlister signaling for the goons to head out and then swung closer. In the shadowy area where the two groups were due to meet he laid down sleeping gas pellets. As they rushed forward crushing them underfoot, men began to drop left and right. As the gas spread out it slowed reflexes and muddled aim. Robin darted in and out of the clumsy melee, dropping more pellets. Once assured that there wouldn’t be a massive amount of bloodshed, he radioed to Oracle to have the police move in and headed towards the last place that he’d seen McAlister standing. He was not going to lose him again.

Robin jumped on his bike as three limos tore out of the warehouse. He smiled to himself, and glanced at the screen on his bike showing the homing beacons he placed on all three. He decided to make sure that the warehouse was well and truly empty and then he would get to work tracking down each limo.

Two of the limo’s had been abandoned early on, only one had kept driving. Balancing his odds, he put in a call to Batman and asked if he could swing by the location of the limo that he was closest to, that done, he called Nightwing and made the same request. That left him with the most likely target and he trailed it silently for over an hour before it stopped moving. It took him another forty-five minutes to catch up. After scaling a fence and gassing three guard dogs, Robin tapped into the house security system, after a few minutes searching, he found McAlister pacing back and forth in the living room.

“This is a fucking nightmare.”

A man to his left, hidden by the shadows cast by the fire, replied, “It’s not a nightmare. You got out, Rubin. Lotta guys couldn’t say the same. What will be a fucking nightmare is if you keep this up. You gotta stop, and you gotta get out of Gotham.”

“But we’ve moved everything underground!”

There was a sigh. “Yeah problem is, if it’s one of the Bat freaks that don’t matter. I told you all dis when you moved here. Go legit an’ you gotta shot. Keep this up an’ Bat kid is gonna nail your ass to the wall.”

“And what if he’s already got enough to nail me?”

“You got money, you got connections, we could try an’ settle. Maybe you’ll get a conviction – maybe. But we can argue that the evidence wasn’t procured in a legal fashion.” He hesitated. “And you should probably stop associatin’ wid me.”

“Out of the question.”

“I gotta rep Rubin, it won’t . . .”

“I don’t care Danny, I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m not saying leave me.” The voice tightened. “I’m just sayin’-”

“No.”

“Ok. Ok, you’re the boss.”

McAlister looked over at him, his expression was anything but that of an employer’s. “You really think we have a chance?”

The man moved out of the shadows, an arm sliding around McAlister’s waist. “Yeah, we got a chance. Come to bed, we’ll worry about it in da morning.”

Robin watched the exchange thoughtfully. Interesting, very interesting.

  
* * *

“Question for you.”

“Gah!” Miriam spun in her chair to glare at him. “Can’t you people knock or something!?”

“Sorry.”

“Liar. So how did the drug bust go?”

Robin brightened. “Well, I nailed them. And got some extra information to throw into the mix.”

Miriam raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“McAlister is gay.”

“ . . .and?”

Robin blinked. Not the response he’d been expecting, but then he thought about Miriam’s all encompassing tastes. “In the crime syndicate that’s a bad thing.”

Miriam looked thoroughly confused. “Why?”

Robin began to respond and then stopped for a moment, and shrugged. “Most likely it has something to with calling one’s masculinity into question.”

“So it would be ok if they were both women?”

“Um, yes probably. Not really the same thing. That could actually help them.”

Miriam shook her head. “This city is beyond bizarre. Every time I think I start to understand something . . .”

“So, back in Wales . . .” Robin hesitated, looking for a non-asshole way to ask the question he wanted

“Was everyone as horny as I am?” She grinned. “No, but they weren’t nearly so judgmental. Sex is part of life. It’s how we make life. Rather important at the end of the day, why on earth would we be ashamed of it?”

“Gay sex doesn’t make life.”

“True, but neither does sex between barren individuals, which incidentally I happen to be. Should we deny them sex just because they can’t procreate? Sex is still a huge part of the human experience. A wonderful and fun one, but at the same time it is just one part of that experience, not the _only_ one. Around here you have the unhealthiest obsession with sex, it's forbidden and taboo but at the same time it seems to be all you can think about.”

Robin shrugged giving her the point. “Fair, but not actually what I came to talk to you about.”

“No, you came to tell me that some crime boss is gay.”

“No, not that either. I actually came to ask if you were hacking into Oracle’s computer system.”

Miriam didn’t react, and Robin knew he’d been right.  He saw Miriam realized that he knew at the same time.  “Why?”  He asked after moment when she seemed disinclined to say anything.

Miriam sighed, “Why else? Money. How do you think I’m paying for all this?”  She gestured toward the office.

Robin blinked. “But Bruce-"

“Is a wonderful man with a boatload of guilt issues, but I don’t want to bankrupt him. This is my pet project.  He’s busy paying for capes and things.” She shrugged. “I’ve been doing it for a while, it’s actually how I made the money to get over here in the first place.”

“Why didn’t you just ask your uncle?”

“We’re… a proud family… and . . . ok no, truthfully?  I didn’t know if he wouldn’t blame me for my mum’s death. I needed a back-up plan.”

Robin nodded understanding. “So hacking?”

“Yes, hacking. I’m phenomenally good at it.”  
   
“And so modest.”  
   
Miriam stuck her tongue out at him, “Computers, I find are pretty much like the human mind only a thousand times simpler to operate. I guess you could say that I have an unfair advantage, but I like what I do. And it pays the bills.”

“Did he blame you?”

Miriam blinked. “What? Oh my uncle? Not that he’s ever said. But I don’t think so. He’s a very good man.”

“I’m staying at the manor for the moment. If you ever need a place to crash, you’re always welcome.”

Miriam smiled. “Thank you. Thank you very much.” She turned back to her desk and then said, “Oh and you can tell Oracle that you know who I am and that she needn’t squeal to Batman. I’m making the assumption that she works with Batman as well. You seem to have a team thing going on.”

“Did you hack my system?”

“Only far enough to figure out that you weren’t a threat. You’re very good, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Robin remarked dryly

“Welcome. So, food, would you like to get some?”

“I’d have to change into my civvies, and that’s clear across town.”

“Ah, but I came prepared for that eventuality. Technically, I’m always prepared.” She led him into the bathroom. “Close your eyes for a moment, this can make people dizzy.”

Robin complied obediently. He didn’t feel anything, the room sounded the same, but when Miriam told him to open his eyes his jaw dropped. He was in his street clothes but when he turned he could have sworn that he felt the swish of his cape.

“Yeah, we’re gonna have to lose the cape but beyond that we’re good.”

“This is amazing!”

She grinned. “It certainly comes in handy. Now, we’re off for food. I saw this really cool Mongolian place that I want to try.”

*

The Joker hadn’t been in to see Miriam for almost a week. He didn’t know why that bothered him. Maybe it was the fact that he suddenly noticed how tired he was, and wondered if he was having the dreams all the time. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been denied access to the solitude that he’d come to miss so desperately as Arkham became more and more constrictive. He didn’t know, but he was embarrassingly relieved when the guard escorted him to the counseling room where Miriam glanced up from where she was playing . . . a video game?

“You don’t have time to see me but you’ve got time to play video games?” He was outraged, how could she just drop him like that? Hadn’t they made a connection? Hadn’t they bonded?

“No, we haven’t bonded, and the game’s for you.”

He kicked himself mentally, reminded that she could pretty much hear everything that he was thinking, “You’re buying me presents now? Sweet.”

“You’re bored here. It makes you unhappy. I thought a bit of mental stimulation might help”

The Joker eyed the game again and then his mouth fell open. “Batman and the Joker? They made a game?! Fucking hell! Where are my royalties! Where are my . . .”

“Skip the melodrama would you? _I_ made the game. Well, sortta, I mostly just rewrote some code on an already existing one, anyway I don’t know how true to life it’ll be but you can always tell me and I can tweak it.” She offered up a controller. “Did you want to have a go?”

The Joker considered. “Who do I have to play?”

“You can play either.”

“Does Bats always win?”

“Nope.”

He sat down next to her. “Gimme.”

Miriam laughed as he died for the fifth time.

The Joker growled. “You’re not supposed to laugh when your patients die.”

“Yes, but you didn’t _really_ die, now did you? Here give me a go.”

“You’re playing Batman?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Traitor.”

She laughed, sticking out her tongue thoughtfully as she angled Batman around the corner, to be killed by a well-muscled thug. “Damn.”

The Joker took the controller back with a hoot of laughter. “I thought you made this thing.”

“I did, I just suck at playing it.”

“I’ll say.”

“Pot, kettle,” she responded as he died magnificently, falling off a skyscraper.

“Nah, I did that on purpose. I’ve always wanted to throw Bats off of one of those.”

“If he worked the grapples as poorly as you did it might work. Why do you hate him so much?”

“Oh, I don’t hate him,” he responded as he tried to make another jump and had his legs kicked out from under him. “Fucking goons! I’m firing them when I get out of here. I almost made that!”

“You don’t hate him but you keep trying to kill him?”

“I don’t want to kill him, then the game would be over! No, no don’t- you stupid rodent. You’re supposed to fly!”

Miriam glanced at the screen. “I think you’re confusing him for Superman, Batman can’t fly. He’s human. Kinda.”

The Joker glanced over, eyebrows arching. “You’ve met him, have you?”

“You died again.” The Joker cursed. “Yeah, I’ve met him, mind like a steel ball. Nothing in and nothing out.”

“Yeah, he’s like that. Like have a conversation with a wall. Has the sense of humor of a brick.”

“Most people don’t consider people trying to kill them funny.”

“Killjoys, but seriously, nothing makes him laugh.”

“That you know of.”

“Riiiiiiiight. You got the impression that he goes home and just laughs his little cowl off?”

Miriam shrugged as she took the controller back. “Not really, but I don’t know him. And since I can’t read him like I do other people, I really don’t know. Robin seems to think that he’s ok.”

“Wait, now you’re chatting up bird boy?”

“Yup. Yesssss!” She grinned as she made the jump that the Joker had missed. “Ha, who rocks, I rock. Yeah, Robin’s a good guy. I cannot believe that you killed the first one, that’s not going to make things difficult or anything.”

“It was the second, and you cheated. There is no way you made that. You’re using codes or something.”

“There are no codes, you idiot. Ok, the second one then, whatever. Why did you do it? If you want to keep the game going doesn't that seem like a pretty dumb thing to do?

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Some days I’m, more . . .”

“Lucid?”

He sighed. “Yes, some days I’m more lucid than others. That was right after I’d broken out. I was high on freedom and, knowing Flech, something more sinister. I do try not to kill the bat kids, it tends to make daddy grumpy, and then he's just no fun at all!”

“But everyone else?”

“Fair game. Keeps Bats interested.”

“Leaving aside for the moment that there are other ways to entertain one’s self and even other ways to keep Batman interested, why him? Why not someone else?”

“He-” The Joker blinked. “I don’t know. He plays the game. He keeps me busy.”

“He doesn’t give you time to brood. Unlike Arkham, which . . .”

“Yeah, exactly.” The Joker shivered. “I hate it here.”

“Is there anything that I can do to fix that?”

“Sure, let me out.”

“Not for a while yet. Anything else?”

“Wait, what did you mean, 'not for a while yet'?”

She smirked at him. “What do you think all of this is for? I’m trying to give you back your life, you moron. What kind of life would that be, stuck here in Arkham? I get you well, you get out.” Hope sprang for just one blissful moment until- “But I’ll know if you’re faking or not. The only way that you’re getting out of here is if you’re truly sane. It’s up to you. You can stay here for the rest of your life, I can try to make it less painful, but ultimately you will be here until you die. The revolving door days of Arkham are over, Joker, I promise you that. You’re not getting out again. This is it, this is all that you’ve got to look forward to for the next forty or so years. Think it over.” The Joker stared at her in horror; this was . . . if she was telling the truth. But no, he was letting her get to him, he’d been told that he wouldn’t get out before and he’d always managed it. There was always a way. It just took patience. “I see that you remain unconvinced.” She replied to his unspoken thoughts, “No worries, take your time, you’ve certainly got plenty of it.”

She glanced down at her watch, “Well you’ve been in here for about two and a half hours. Do you want anything before I go?”

The Joker considered for a moment and then grinned evilly. “You got any porn?”

*

The Joker stared at the pile of porn in front of him in amazement. He’d meant it as a joke. He hadn’t expected to get grilled about his preferences for the next five minutes – which he’d lied about but she hadn’t commented on – and then have Miriam return with two huge stacks of the stuff. Some of which was very well thumbed through by the look of it. Men and women. Interesting, clearly she’d pick up on the lie even if she hadn’t called him on it. He’d been angry but as he glanced over one of the men in the magazine and his cock showed signs of life for the first time in months, he forgave her. He flipped through some of it and then put it down, resting his head on the back of the sofa.  
He had a decision to make. No one had escaped since Miriam had become head of Arkham. No one. It had been over four months now. That was unheard of. If she was serious, if this really had become that last place that he’d ever see . . . did he want that? Did he want to die here? The obvious answer was no. But did he want to be 'cured?' There was nothing wrong with him! He was _fine_ , in spite what everyone kept telling him. They were the ones consumed by the rigid structure of their miserable little lives, they were the ones slowly eviscerating themselves in their nine to five grind and what’s worse? They let it happen! So what, he got himself 'cured' and then went out to what? Die in the same nine to five? How was that better? He shook his head, he didn’t want to die here, but he didn’t want to be cured, not if it meant that he had to job it just like the rest of the drones. A thought struck, Batman surely wasn’t like the rest, the Joker couldn’t see him self going out and becoming a superhero but surely there were other options. There had to be. Miriam wasn’t normal, and there were others. Maybe . . .he didn’t know. It was a chance, and he didn’t know which way to jump. He thumped the sofa arm in frustration. He hated this. And god, if he went out there and had to be some peon at some corporation . . . He shook his head, he couldn’t do it. He’d just have to wait it out here, maybe Miriam would get bored, or maybe she’d go somewhere else. Maybe, after a few years, he shivered at the thought… maybe after a while she’d get lax and he could make a break for it. Not that he could tussle with Bats again because inevitably Bats would catch him – let’s face it he always did – and if he had to wait two years to get out . . .he groaned. His head hurt. There had to be another way. There just had to be.

* * *

“Status?”

“Western Europe is finished.” Relief was clear in the voice. “I’m rotating everything; the process will take just one month, as predicted. Once that’s set, I’ll start on America.”

“Which will undoubtedly take some time.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“Understood.”

  
Unbecoming:  
Chapter Six

 It had been four and a half weeks since the surgery. Dr. Stephen had found Gotham to his liking and had even stayed for the unveiling. He looked now as if he might be regretting that decision. The surgery had taken eleven hours; it had been comprehensive, covering the entire side of his body that was marred by scarring. Miriam had been in afterward to work the healing spells that her mother had taught her all those years ago. With Dr. Stephen here to take all the credit she’d felt safe to do a bit more than would have been possible with a less skilled – and egotistical – surgeon. As it was, the transformation would be utterly perfect. Miriam fostered a sense of nervous anticipation for the look of the thing, but she was quite sure what they’d find when the bandages came off.

“Now Harvey, this might be slightly disconcerting at first. We’ve dimmed the lights but let me know if you need me to turn them down further.”  Miriam explained.

“Whatever, just get on with it.”

Two-face’s voice, unhappy and frightened, but there was something underneath that spoke of excitement. As the bandages came off, a gasp went around the room. Utter perfection.

“Why Dr. Stephen, you are indeed a miracle worker.”  Miriam exclaimed happily.

“Oh my God, Harvey!” Bruce cried, ecstatic.

The nurse leaned over and put a mirror in front of Harvey who was still shackled to the bed. Harvey looked at himself and his eyes widened: Two-face was no more, only Harvey Dent was left. “We’ll start you back on your meds as soon as Dr. Stephen clears you. Once they have a chance to kick in, we’ll work on getting you back-"

“You can’t kill me bitch. Nobody messes with Two-face. You think this’ll stop me? I’ll find any ol’ knife and scar him up nice and good when there ain’t nobody round to fix it. I’m here and I’m staying, you got that?”

The nurse took a hurried step back and Dr. Stephen edged farther away from the bed, Miriam however, looked unfazed and Bruce just frowned, turning to her. “He was doing better?”

“We had to take him off the meds so that it wouldn’t interfere with the surgery. Now that he’s had a chance to heal we should be ok to start putting him back on. Don’t worry.” She placed a hand on his arm. “The hard part is over.”

“Don’t talk about me like I ain’t in the damn room. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere!”

“Perhaps a mild sedative, doctor?” Miriam suggested and Dr. Stephan nodded enthusiastically and handed her a syringe. Miriam smiled, but administered the drug without comment. Once Harvey was out she turned to the guards. “We’ll keep him here overnight, and then I want him moved back to his cell. Allen?” Miriam spoke into her headset.  
   
“Yes Dr. Alexander?”

“Tell the infirmary that I need Harvey Dent’s room prepped for him to return tomorrow afternoon. And let Marshall know so that he can work out the guard rota.”

“On it.”

*

"I can't do it."

Miriam blinked, looking up to find the Joker, hands on hips, standing over her.  The guards had ushered him in while she was still making notations about her least session.  "You can't do what exactly?"

"The whole,” he gesticulated dramatically, "being cured."

"Oh. That. Why not?"

"Because I just can't, ok? What am I gonna do? Who hires ex-super villains? I don't grovel, I don't beg and I sure as hell don't fill out timecards!"

"So…” Miriam said slowly, “this is about getting a job when you get out?"

"Well, yeah. Not a big deal to you maybe but even I've gotta eat."

"No, I know that, trust me. But I'm planning to help you with that, you know."

"Really. Since when?"

"What did you think I was going to do, get you well and dump you back on the streets?" The Joker fidgeted. She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm not. Once we get you functional then we'll work on getting you presentable to the public and then self-employed."

The Joker brightened up at that idea. "Self-employed?"

"Sure, we'll find you a job where you get to be in charge and doesn't involved gassing whole city blocks and we'll be in business. You're a very smart man, Joker. It shouldn't be much of a problem." She eyed him curiously. "Do you remember anything, job-wise, from before?"

He squinted, thinking and then sighed. "Nothing."

"Not to worry. So beyond job worries, do you want to keep trying?"

The Joker hesitated, did he? "I don't need to be cured," he blurted suddenly. "I'm not crazy."

Miriam nodded. "Most people with psychological illness think the same thing."

"I don't have a-"

Miriam held up a hand. "Do you acknowledge that psychological illness exists?"

"Um, I don't know, sure, I guess. I mean I've met some nutjobs in my time, sure."

"Alright, and the nutjobs that you've met, do you think they thought they were crazy?"

He chortled. "I doubt it.  You shoulda met this one guy, used to think he was a turtle. Turtleman he called himself. But he was serious about it, when he got scared, he pulled his head down in his sweater!"

"Ok, so extending that logic – that there are crazy people who just don't know that they're crazy – couldn't you also be a nutjob that didn't know that he was, in fact, crazy?"

"No!"

"OK, now you're just being recalcitrant on purpose."

"No I'm not. I'm not crazy. It's everybody else who's nuts."

Miriam cocked her head questioningly. "Why do you say that?"

"Look around you woman! Most people are miserable while me, I go through life with a smile. I'm having fun while their dragging their sorry keisters home from yet another day at a thankless job. I'm running rings around Bats while they're worrying over bills. I'm plotting escape plans while they're worrying about bald spots. I'm happy. They're miserable. I enjoy my life. They can't wait to get to the weekend so they can complain that there is nothing to do and not enough money to do it with."

"Alright, fair enough, but not everyone is miserable, Joker. I'm not. You can have a life you enjoy without killing people."

"You're really hung up on this killing thing."

"It tends to put people off, yes."

The Joker waved a hand dismissively. "Life's not fun if there's no risks."

"So you make life fun for the people of Gotham by . . ."

"Putting excitement back into their miserable little lives!" He jumped up on the couch, bouncing happily. "By keeping things different!"

Miriam looked up at him. "You didn't take your meds this morning, did you?"

He stopped bouncing and looked at her seriously for a moment. "No. I don't want to stop being me. I like me."

Miriam sighed. "Well, if that's your decision then I won't force you. Let me know what I can do to make life here a little more palatable for you."

"Ah, can we play the game some more?"

Miriam smiled sadly, "Sure."

He bounced off the couch and sat down in front of the TV. "I wanna be me this time."

They played for over an hour, Miriam quiet for most of the time. The Joker turned upon occasion to find her watching him. At one point, when the frustration and sadness was clear in her expression, he raised his eyebrows questioningly and her eyes snapped towards the screen. She didn't say anything.

"I thought you weren't going to try and change my mind."

Miriam shrugged unhappily. "I said that I wasn't going to force you. I want to help you. You say you don't want help but there is a man trapped in your head that is screaming for me to kill him. I hate it when life isn't black and white but I knew that would be a problem when I took the job."

"What man?"

"Jack, the man you used to be. Every time I go into that dream, the one with the woman, he begs me to kill him. Not help him, kill him. Honestly I think it's what's behind your suicidal behavior most of the time."

"I'm not suicidal-"

"Yeah you are.” Miriam sighed. “You don't do anything the easy way, none of you so called supervillains do. You set up elaborate traps and schemes, you play dangerous and eventually terminal games. If you want to kill Batman, go put a gun to his head when he's tied up. Bam, end of problem."

The Joker blinked. "You sound like you've done this before."

"We're not talking about me. You do this the hard way because the little part of you that Jack is still in control of is hoping that one day Batman's punch slips, your bullet ricochets, you stumble and fall into another vat – one you don't climb out of. While you're in here you're safe, unless you don't take your meds and then your mind continues to deteriorate. Hell, who knows, maybe this latest round of self destructive behavior is Jack induced."

"Wait, wait, wait. Why the hell would I even want to become this guy if he's trying to kill me?"

"You won't be. You'll be you. Whoever you are at this point, only with impulse control so that when you want to gas a city block, you'll come complain at me. So when you want to pull out a gun and shoot someone because you think he's ignoring you-" the Joker winced, he hadn't thought anyone had noticed that particular pet peeve, "-you'll follow proper channels and humiliate him within the legal bounds of society. Fuck, I'll help. I'm not going to lobotomize you, Joker. I don't want that. I want you functional, I want Jack to stop screaming for his – and consequently your – death. You and I, we would be working together to give you back control so it wasn't Jack or the vat of acid or the meds, but you calling the shots. You think you're in charge now but you're not. You're just being pulled by different strings than the working schmucks on the nine to five."

The Joker was stunned by the heat in her voice, he hadn't really expected her to care, he thought for exactly 2.5 seconds about the ways he could manipulate that fact and then gave up at the knowing look in her eyes. No manipulation, not this time. "Why do you care?" It wasn't said with malice this time, just general confusion.

"Because someone should. You, all of you, have been treated terribly. You have been ignored and used as guinea pigs. You deserve better. You- you were dropped in a vat of fucking acid, Joker. Yes, consequently you did terrible things, _consequently_. No one seems to care anymore, you're a bad guy. Who cares that it's not actually your fault? And yes," she continued, forestalling the question that was so clearly in his eyes, "this is all about me. I was treated as an abomination where I come from. I was kicked out of the only home that I've ever known because of actions that I took that were contrived by others. But people can't see that, can't see beyond the smaller stuff, they just want someone to blame and then be able to forget about it. They don't care that you're a person."

The Joker closed his eyes and rubbed his head. It was always so hard to think . . . Remembering would be painful; he'd blocked it all out for a reason after all. And . . . and when he tried, he shook his head. He just didn't know. Life was so much easier when he just- just ignored all of this. Who cared, right? He was the Joker, he'd always been the Joker. And- and if he couldn't even trust himself then who the hell could he trust? He opened his eyes to find Miriam watching him. She wanted to help him, because . . .well because of what had happened to her. The Joker was always comfortable with a motive of self-interest.

"I don't know what to do." He admitted, hating it, hating being powerless and confused. It made him want to hit someone. He ground his teeth together.

Miriam seemed to realize this. "Everything is entirely up to you. I can run you through the different options and you can take your pick. You don't have to decide right now. Let’s go over everything in detail; you can tell me what you're worried about and we can try and work out a solution. My only request is that you go back on the meds for the process. We'll put you on a lower dose if you feel that they're making you change but I know that they help you focus."

He nodded slowly. "Fine."

"Wonderful. I’ll get Greg to speak to you about the dose, he's a good guy but a hard-ass so don't give him a hard time. Tell him what you're worried about and he'll work with you. Once you've been on them for a month solid, we'll go over the options and see what sounds good."

*

<Bruce? It's Miriam. I need a favor.>

<Name it.> Wayne replied immediately and Miriam smiled. She was going to have to fix billionaire's best friends more often.

<I want to set up a system of recovery houses throughout the city. Not half-way houses, I know that we have those, but honest-to-Goddess homes all of their own that they can live in for up to three years – rent free – while they get their feet back under them. It'll be expensive->

<Not a problem.> Wayne interrupted, <I like the idea.>

She laughed. <I'm glad, because there's more. I want to assign each person we release a personal live-in counselor who will stay with them for the entire year after they’ve been released. That's going to be the really expensive part. I'm pretty sure that you've got enough property throughout the city to cover the houses; I think a couple dozen to start will do.  But this, this will be harder, one, because finding the proper personnel will be difficult, but also because it will be an around-the-clock job, and thus very expensive."

Miriam could feel him thinking it over.  She waited with baited breath.  If wyane refused to fund this then she was going to have to start fundraising and that was going to be both time consuming and lengthy which would in turn prevent her from releasing inmates who were ready to be reintroduced into the civilian world. <Miriam,> he said finally, <that's a truly fantastic idea.> 

Miriam smiled sheepishly and ducked her head at the praise, which made her _extremely_ glad that she’d opted to _not_ have this conversation in person.  She’d been rather proud of the idea and to hear Wayne agree so enthusiastically made her flush with happy pride.   <Well,> she cleared her throat when it came out a bit squeakier than she’d wanted, and tried again, “I was reading over Harleen Quinzel's file and I thought it might be a good idea, given what happened the last time she was released."

Bruce laughed. < Yes, I remember that quite well, it was in the papers for weeks.  I know several people who will appreciate not having a repeat of the experience. Do you think she’ll be ready to release any time soon?>

<Oh she's been ready. I'm just waiting on Batman to bring Poison Ivy back in.>

<Really.> Bruce sounded surprised but then again, who knew, he could still just be playing a part. <Why's that?>

<Because there are really only two people that have helped perpetuate Harleen’s dysfunction, and while I've got one in custody and on the way to recovery, the other one is still unaccounted for and I'm not comfortable letting Harleen out until Ivy is safely back in Arkham. And of course I need wait until we get the recovery system fully operational..>

<Most of the previous directors of Arkham weren't crazy about Batman and his involvement with the inmates. Some even went so far as to blame him for their conditions. I'm surprised to find that you're so accepting.>

<As I said previously, most of the previous directors of Arkham were idiots.>

<So you don't believe that he's responsible for their conditions?>

Miriam pulled phone away to squint at it as if it might offer up what Wayne was trying to uncover, finally she said "No? Why should he be? He didn’t, that I’m aware of, seduce Harleen Quinzel.  Nor did he drop Joker in that vat of acid.   He certainly didn’t suppress Harvey's rage until is manifested as a second personality to be given shape by his industrial accident. The very suggestion is ridiculous.> She scoffed. <Really, it's the same everywhere it seems; people are always too hung up on finding someone—other than themselves of course— to blame. Anyway->  _Miriam,_ she chided herself _don’t lecture the nice man with the money and obvious guilt complex,_ <\- to return to the topic at hand, when can you get back to me on the projected budget for the recovery system?>

<What were you estimating?> Wayne asked.

<I've run some numbers. I'll send everything over to you later today. I was thinking somewhere in the neighborhood of a yearly budget of about 1.3 million.>

<3 million and that's my final offer.>

On the other end of the phone, Miriam's eyes went wide. <What? _Yearly_? >

<I think it sounds about right.>

<Oooo-kay then." Miriam replied, and couldn't contain the smile that spread over her face. <I'll, well I guess I’ll send over the paperwork later today?>

<Sounds good. I'll let my secretary know to expect it and get her to work up a list of all the housing options that we have on hand. If you need more money for the initial start-up let me know.>

<I'm sure we should be ok. _Thank you_ Bruce. I mean that. This is going to make a world of difference. > Miriam was so giddy with happiness she almost felt like she was flying.  In the privacy of her office where no one could see her she did a little dance of joy.  <Oh,>  Miriam said, suddenly remembering, < and while I've got you, I was also planning to look at a few properties out of town, for the more high profile inmates, like Harvey. If you have anything that you can recommend, could you have your admin put that in as well?>

<Not a problem.>  
   
*   *   *

Robin watched from his position behind the door as McAlister entered the room and threw his satchel down on the bed and started stripping off his suit.

"I've come to see if you're willing to make a deal."

McAlister whipped around, stumbling over his own feet so that he ended up sprawled backwards on the bed. He struggled to get the gun out of his holster but Robin knocked it away easily, closing the door soundlessly with his other hand.

McAlister opened his mouth to shout and Robin help up his finger. "You only get one chance. I suggest you listen."

McAlister fell silent, eyes defiant. "I'm not making a deal with you. You've got nothing. You can't prove anything. You're not even a cop!"

The dim light in the room glinted off Robin's gauntlets. "I have proof of your involvement with the drug ring. I have you at the site giving orders and inspecting the 'merchandise.'" Robin’s mouth turned up in a sneer. "I have everything that the police need to convict you and send you to jail for a very, very long time."

"Then why are you even here?" McAlister spat as he struggled to his feet. "Why not go to them in the first place? Why try to make deals with me?"

"You're a small fish in a very big pond. I want the names of your suppliers. I want the names of your buyers, all of them. You give me that and there will be a reduced sentence . . .and Danny will stay out of jail."

For the first time McAlister looked scared." You leave him the fuck out of this! He doesn't have anything to do with this!"

"But I have proof to the contrary; I have a recorded conversation between the two of you, on your own surveillance equipment, proving his culpability. You agree to cooperate with the police, they don't get it." Robin held his breath. He was banking on the fact that this would rattle McAlister enough that it wouldn’t occur to him that such evidence – obtained without a warrant – would never hold up in court.  But then again, even if it didn’t hold up, it would set them to looking at Danny and neither he nor McAlister might like what was found.

McAlister looked at him, desperation and anger warring in his eyes. "He's not involved! I swear. He – _oh God_." He sunk down on the bed, head in his hands. "He was just giving me advice! He's legit now, I swear!"

"With his record the police won't see it that way," Robin replied calmly.

He took a deep breath. "Ev-everything. Fine. But nothing gets mentioned to Danny. He doesn't know about the deal, he doesn’t know why I gave everyone up. Got it?"

Robin nodded. "Fine. I want your files, all of them. Now."

"I- I don't have everything here."

"Don't fuck with me, McAlister or I'll put Danny on the chopping block. Do you know what happens to gay men in prison?"

"You _bastard_ ," he breathed and moved slowly toward the desk.

"Keep your hands were I can see them. That drawer?" He indicated the one that McAlister was heading for. "You open it, slowly. Don't put your hand inside." McAlister eased the desk drawer open, revealing a heavy stack of files.

"This is everything that I have here."

Robin nodded. "I want a list of all of your warehouses as well, under all of your names."

As McAlister sat at the desk, making up the list, Robin flicked through the files looking for the name that he knew needed to be on there. He sighed internally when he saw Flech's name.

"There." McAlister handed the list up. "That's everything that I’ve got."

"If I find out, at any time, that you held out on me, then Danny's going down, understand?"

"Yes! For Christ's sake, yes I get it. Now get out of my house."

"Ah, ah, ah. The police are outside. I suggest that you be nicer to them than you've been to me."

McAlister crumpled. "Fine."

Robin spoke in to his radio. <He's in the bedroom, send them in.>  
   
* * *  
   
“Let's start with option number one. You stay here until you die."

The Joker made a face. "Not crazy about that one, kiddo. What else you got?"

"Now wait, you need to really understand this one, because it affects the other ones. If you stay here there are two further options. One, if you stop taking the meds, this will lead to brain deterioration, paralysis and eventual death. Bouncing on and off the drugs, like you have been doing, is equal to not taking them because they have a cumulative effect. You have about three or four years left, if you're lucky. Lower the dose and you lower your life expectancy. Option number two, is you stay here, but stay on the meds. You'll stay your zany, crazy self – to a point – but you'll live for the next, oh, forty or fifty years. But you'll never be allowed out of Arkham. You'll be stuck here forever. I've put wards around the perimeters of Arkham. I've put wards on all of our lifers. Including you. You get to the perimeter you're just going to turn around and come right back. I'll even take you out for a test run if you don't believe me. So here you'll stay and here you'll die. I know that you're bored here, and as much as I love hanging out with you, I've got other things that I have to do as well. I could probably see my way to getting you better accommodations, maybe even get the games put in your room, but that's about it. You will be shackled every time you are moved from one block to the next. You will be told when to eat, when to sleep and when to shower. Your life will never again be your own. But you'll still be the Joker."

"Yeah, I got it. It sucks here.”  The Joker said petulantly, “Option number two, please."

"Option number two, we bring back Jack, either by One) doing a deep scan, which would put you, if not in my control then, well, bond you to me, and me to you, indefinitely. Or Two) we keep trying to work through the dream and hope that he'll throw up a last name. Even still, if it's something like Smith we might never find it."

"Soooooooo deep scan is the better option."

"Right-"

"I don't want to be Jack." The Joker fidgeted with one of the toys left on the couch for just that purpose. "Not who he was. And these drugs suck by the way. I feel like a fucking zombie."

"Anti-psychotics will do that to you."

"I want to remember, I know that it'll hurt like hell but-" he scrubbed a hand through his hair, mussing the curls, "-but I'm tired of these fucking holes in my brain. But I don't want to just become him. I like _me_ ,” The Joker pointed to himself and grinned.  “If I _have_ to have ‘ impulse control,’” He put air quotes around impulse control, “ _fine._ If it'll let me back on the streets,” He rolled his eyes. "You'll all just have to live with the boredom."

Miriam nodded enthusiastically. "Which brings us to option number three, we fix you. The Joker. I heal the damage done to your brain, we give you back your past, we give you back your impulse control, but we'll monitor the process, the entire time. Should you start to feel that you're losing something then we'll stop and work something out. Thus you'll be you, with shiny new impulse control."

"And that would get me out of here?"  The Joker asked skeptically.

"If I can prove to the council, which I will do, that you are able to control your actions, that you are no longer a threat to yourself and others then yeah, we'll be able to get you out of here. After we get you farther along we'll work on job options, possible careers, and whatnot."

The Joker took a deep breath letting it out slowly. "Option number three then. Ok, so when- how do we start?"

"Do you want to do the deep scan?"

He hesitated. "I don't . . .what will it do?"

"We'll be bonded. Given certain situations and strong enough emotions I'll feel what you feel, you'll feel what I feel. Not all the time, and the farther apart we get the weaker the signal will get. We will be able to track each other to a point, so should you suddenly decide to take off for parts unknown-"

"I'll be shit out of luck." The Joker frowned. "So it’s kinda like putting on a leg monitor that I can never take off."

Miriam shrugged. "To a point. It's up to you."

"That's little comfort.”  The Joker replied, his tone bitter.  “So” he changed the subject abruptly, “where's Harl these days? I haven't seen her in ages."

"She's on a different level.   She's also about to be released."

"Really?"

"Mmhm, I'm waiting for Batman to bring Ivy back in."

The Joker hooted. "Yes bring plant-lady back. I can't wait until you start work on her. You think I'm bad? Just wait till you meet that stuck-up bitch."

"So I've heard."

*

The Joker sat on his bed, back to the concrete wall behind him. This was it. He had to decide. He'd meant what he'd said. He was done, he couldn't stay here forever and he knew it, he'd had a good run but . . .bah, it sounded like he was dying. He thumped his head against the wall. He wished . . .he didn't know what. He just wished. Think _Joker_ , think! If he did the deep scan thing then, then he could leave. Eventually. But it would be the equivalent of putting on a leash . . .ugh.  But if he didn’t and he had to _stay_ …that was even _worse_.   Ok fuck this, new plan. Deep scan go, now. Tonight. Done with thinking. He stood up and pressed the button that would call an orderly. One materialized very quickly and the Joker suspected that Miriam had been expecting this.

"Tell Miriam I need to see her. Now."

The orderly nodded and disappeared. About twenty minutes later, Miriam found him pacing the font of his cell. "I want to do the deep scan, now. Right now. I'm wearing holes in my brain thinking over this."

Miriam hesitated. "Joker, this will take a while. There's a lot that I've got to-"

"Fine, do it. I want it over with.  _Now!_ " He barked, feeling rattled and hating it.   

Miriam sighed. "Alright. Alright. Calm down.” She held up her hand placatingly, “Try and get some sleep and I'll be back in-" she glanced at her watch "-two or three hours."

" _Three hours_!"

" _Joker_."

The Joker pulled up short at the warning tone in her voice. _Breathe_ , he chanted at himself, _fucking breathe._   _This is a big deal,_ he reminded himself. He should have taken the anti-psychotic meds, even if they did make him feel like a fucking zombie. _Don't snap at her_ , he pleaded with himself, _that won't help_. He tried for calm. "There is no way that I'm going to get any sleep."  His voice may have shot up a few octaves above his goal of reasonable, but fuckit, it was the best he could do.

Miriam pressed the button to open the cell, and pointed at the bed. "In."

"No seriously-"

"In."

The Joker shoved down on the irritation and got into bed. Miriam placed a hand on his head and the world went dark.

 

The Joker woke up some indeterminable time later to find Miriam, dressed up for Halloween, shaking him gently.

"Rise and shine."  She sang quietly.

"What the hell are you wearing?" he asked groggily.

She glanced down at the robe, and shrugged. "It's traditional."

He thought that she would lead him back to the counseling room but she didn't; she took him to a section of Arkham that he'd never been in before. The administrative wing if he was any judge. She led him into a study –hers presumably – and indicated a door. "You'll need to shower and there's a robe left on the chair in there for you. Put that on and then come out."

The Joker nodded, feeling surreal.  This was a dream, he decided. It must be. He was finally catching up on all the dreaming he'd missed and his fractured subconscious was making up for lost time. He crossed to the door; the shower was lit by candlelight. He got in and scrubbed, shocked at how warm the water was. They must keep the water barely lukewarm in the prisoner's showers at Arkham. He smiled to himself. Just think, soon he would be able to have hot showers all the time . . .and food.   Oh God, real food again. And- why the fuck had it taken him so long to decide to do this again? He got out of the shower, drying off quickly and threw on the robe. It smelled strange, if the Joker had known the word earthy he would have used it, but as he didn't he settled for strange. He came out to find Miriam painting circles on the floor of her study where she had pulled up the rug.

"They're gonna take that out of your deposit, you know."

Miriam glanced up and grinned and the Joker was suddenly struck by how young she looked. "Good Lord, I know I joke but how old _are_ you?"

Miriam laughed quietly. "Old enough. Now the way this will work is that I'm going to put you into a trance. I'll then start the reconstruction on your brain." When she saw the confused look on his face she elaborated, "I'm going to fill in the holes."

"Ah."

"It'll take a very long time. After the reconstruction, I'll put you in the infirmary in an induced coma for the next two weeks."

The Joker blanched. " _Two weeks_?"

Miriam nodded. "You'll need time to absorb everything subconsciously. After the two weeks I'll bring you out slowly, at that point you should have re-assimilated all the information but having everything hit you all at once would be hard on your system so I'll repress the memories so that you can remember them gradually. Any questions?"

The Joker took a deep breath.  _Millions_ , he thought absently as he looked over the alien landscape of what had once been an ordinary office. "Nope. Let's rock and roll."

Miriam rolled her eyes. "Lay down in the center of the circle."  
   
* * *  
   
"Sorry, she's not in."

Terry glanced at Allen, positioned protectively in front of Miriam's office.

"Is she ill?"

Allen gave a half shrug. "She didn't say, just that she wouldn't be in for the next two days. But with the way she's been working I wouldn't be surprised if she'd come down with something."

Terry sighed. "Alright, it'll have to wait. It was good news anyway."

"Oh?"

Terry swatted at him. "Go on you old gossip, you'll find out after she does."

Allen turned his nose up in mock indignation and sniffed. "Fine, don't tell the lackey."

"Two days." Terry mused. "And she didn't say why? Did she sound sick?"

"I didn't talk to her. She left a message on my voice mail saying that she wouldn't be in for the next two days and that if there was anything critical that either I should deal with it or let you know."  
   
* * *  
   
Tim glanced at the empty seat in Chem class, concerned. After the initial rocky three-week start with Arkham, Miriam hadn't missed any school. After class he pulled out his cell to find a message notification flashing on the screen.  
   
<Hey Tim, I’m going to be incommunicado for the next two days. I'm fine, no worries, I'll see you in a few.>

Tim raised an eyebrow at the phone.  That was unhelpful. He dialed Miriam’s cell and when he got no answer he tried her home number. <Hi Mr. O'Connell, my name's Tim, I'm a friend of Miriam's from school? I just wanted to make sure that she's ok.>

"Hi, Tim. Miriam said that you might be calling. She's fine, Tim. It's just work."

Tim wondered how to ask if he was speaking in some sort of code and she was being held captive somewhere, and then realized how paranoid that was.  _Too much time with Bruce_ , he decided. "Good to hear, how's Tina?"

"She's fine as well. She asks after you. Apparently you left quite an impression."

"She's a nice kid. Well tell Miriam I called, I won't take up anymore of your time. Thanks."  
   
* * *  
   
"She's still not back?" Terry asked, concern edging her words. "And she hasn't contacted you at all?"

Allen chewed on his bottom lip. "Nothing since the message four days ago. I'm sorry Terry, she's not answering her cell, or her pager, or anything else for the matter. I've had to turn Bruce Wayne away three times. Bruce Wayne!"

Terry waved at him. "Fine, fine. We're ok for now. Do you have her address? I could go by her house and check to make sure that she's ok."

"I've checked, the only address we have on file is her old address in Denver. She hasn't updated her info yet."

"Damn it. Does Bruce know that she missing?"

"She's not missing Margo! She's just . . ."

"In Gotham, when you haven't seen someone in four days they're missing." Terry ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "Ok call Bruce and let him know what's going on. I'm going to, I don't know what. Pace or something."

Unbecoming:  
Chapter Seven.

Tim stared at the empty seat. He excused himself and headed towards the library.  Once he’s verified that there was no one in the vicinity, he slipped his earpiece out of his backpack and put it in his ear.  <Oracle?>

<Tim?  Aren’t you supposed to be in school?  Is everything ok?>

<Have you heard from your hacker in the last few days?>

<No?> Tim could hear the confusion in her voice < . . .why?>

Tim sighed. <No reason>

He hung up and tried her uncle again. All he got was the same answer as before, but this time he didn’t sound quite so sure of himself. Tim had thought about pressing the matter but he assumed that O’Connell didn’t know much more. That night he swung by Arkham, but the window to her study was locked and when he tried to force it he ended up staring at it stupidly for over an hour until he finally left and went elsewhere. That must have been an example of the warding she'd been talking about. He thought about it for a moment, and then wheeled his bike off in the other direction.

*

"Robin! This is a surprise."

"Hi Zatanna, I've got a bit of a favor to ask of you."

She stretched as she stood up from where she'd been mediating, candles floated eerily around the room, throwing reeling shadows on the dimly lit walls.

"Is there anything that you can give me to get me past a warded window?"

Zatanna eyed him askance. "And where are you going that you need to get past a warded window?"

Robin just looked at her evenly and she sighed. "God’s blood, you become more like him every day." She walked toward a workstation in the corner of the room. "Type of wards?"

"Unknown."

She raised her eyebrows. "Like a challenge, do you? I can give you an amulet that will help with clarity, but without much more information I can't be too specific. Robin, how powerful is the magic that you're going up against?"

Robin considered it. "Very?"

She looked at him sharply. "Are they just wards?" When Robin hesitated, she continued, "Robin messing with unknown magic is beyond foolish, it's suicidal. Even Superman isn't immune to magic."

"It's necessary."

She opened her mouth to argue and then gave up. "Fine. Then take this as well. It's a one-minute damper. It will give you exactly one minute in which you will be immune to the magic, provided that it isn't a higher level than I can cast. If you can't get through in that time then you need to leave. Do you understand?"

"Yes." He nodded his emphasis as he took the amulets from her. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. This is probably a very stupid thing you're about to do. Just let me know how it goes."

*

Robin pressed the timer on his belt as he hit the window again. It took him a minute to fight through the fog in his brain; he still felt sleepy and sluggish and had a strong desire to be elsewhere but he was functional, sort of. He eyed the lock on the window, finally pulling out the appropriate tools from his belt – which he nearly dropped twice. By the time he dropped to the floor of the office he was gasping for breath as if he was drowning. He shuddered hard as he fought through the sucking remnants of the spell and forced himself upright and away from the window. The room was dark and stale; the burnt-out remains of candles littered both the desk and the floor. Robin moved quietly towards the center of the office where he found Miriam bowed over the prone figure of the Joker, forehead wrinkled in concentration, sweat glistening on her brow. He hesitated, not having any idea what was going on and well out of his depth. She wasn't dead and she hadn't been kidnapped. That eased his mind significantly. Not knowing what else to do, he settled down to wait.

Robin was roused from his half trance a great while later as Miriam groaned and fell over.

"Miriam? Miriam!"

She blinked up at him, and he jerked back slightly in surprise. Her eyes were . . .wrong. They looked almost reptilian, with elongated slits for pupils and irises turned a color he didn’t even have a name for. A mix of purple silver.

"Tim?" She mumbled incoherently

"Yeah,” he shook himself, “I'm here. What- are you ok?"

He ran a hand down her back and felt her shiver. "So much," she said thickly, "I- there was so much."

"What were you trying to do?" He pulled her farther into his arms, trying to still the shaking that had gripped her.

"Fix," she said indistinctly as her head dropped down on his shoulder.

"Ok, questions later. We need to get you to bed."

"No, don't sleep- need," she sighed raising her head slightly, "M'ok. Just need . . . food." She dropped her head back down.

"Miriam you're exhausted, you need to sleep."

She shook her head against his shoulder. "Food." She pointed shakily at a drawer in her desk, her alien eyes incandescent in the darkness.

"Ok, food, fine. Stay put." He walked carefully towards the desk and rifled through the draw finding a packet of something. "This?"

She nodded and fell over.

"Jesus, Miriam!"

"M'ok." She took the opened packet from him.

Robin watched her eat for while, when it didn't look like she was going to fall over again, he turned towards the Joker. "What were you doing in here?"

"Fixing him." Miriam said around a mouthful of what looked like flat bread.

"What do you mean 'fixing him?'"

Miriam licked her fingers. "Fixing the damage that the acid did to his brain."

Robin's jaw dropped. "You can do that?"

"Well it wasn't easy; I've been in here for-” she glanced at the watch on her arm and muttered a stream of what Robin assumed were cursed virulently and at length in a language that Robin didn't know.  She finished with "-Fucking hell five days!! Well I underestimated that spectacularly. I need to get him down to the infirmary now. Fuck!" She ran a hand through her tangled hair and Tim caught sight of the tip of a pointed ear poking out.

"Miriam?"

"Yes?" she responded distractedly as she ran her hands over the Joker checking his vitals.

"Are you one of the Fae?"

Miriam's head ripped around and she fell over again as her hands flew to her ears. " Ow.” She groaned, “ Oh fucking hell." Robin watched her as curled in on herself. "Half. Long story. I'll tell you later?"

Robin nodded. "Do you need any help?"

"Yeah, I need to get him to the infirmary. Now. Normally I'd just call for the guards but,” she gestured to herself, “I don’t look like me at the moment.”

Robin looked her up and down, taking in the pointed ears, alien eyes; paint smudged face and black robe. Finally he squatted down and heaved the Joker over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. "Let’s move."

"Hold on." Miriam struggled to her feet, "The door's warded." She squinted at him, her strange eyes catching the light, "How on earth did you get in here anyway?"

"Long story. Later."

She ran her hand over the door and then turned the handle. They moved as stealthily as possible, slowing once outside the door to the infirmary. "There'll be two guards on the inside of the door," Miriam hissed at him.

"Ok, two minutes."

He set the Joker gently on the floor and then ghosted back the way they'd come. He inched into the ventilation system, having to stop every few minutes to disconnect the laser system that had been installed every ten feet or so. He put his ear to the floor and listened but all he could hear was the muffled sound of ventilators and the beeping of machines. He inched further until he found the vent directly over the room; unfortunately it was in the center of the room. Glancing around from his limited perspective, he began inching back the way that he'd come. He pulled a small laser pen out of his belt and drew a hole in the ceiling, dropping down in the corner of the room behind one of the ventilators. One of the patients coughed and he heard one of the guards shift his feet but the room remained quiet. Robin moved with every ounce of stealth he possessed until he had the guards in line of sight, pulling out a dart gun, he hit them both in the neck, leaping forward to catch them before they hit the ground. He fished the keys off the guard's belt and unlocked the door. He hurried out into the hall and picked the Joker up, heading towards a bed. Miriam meanwhile headed for the cabinet that held extra scrubs. In a flashing whirl of clothing and hair she exchanged her heavy black robe for a set of purple scrubs. Grabbing a washcloth, she scrubbed at the face paint on her cheeks and forehead and grabbed a comb and ran in through her hair. Robin was struck by how much smaller she looked, her eyes still shining weirdly in the dim light and the pointed tips of her ears even more evident in the newly tamed hair.

"How do I look?"

"You're not going to try and talk to somebody like that are you?"

"I was planning to be the confused new orderly, why? Don't I look the part?"

"Not with your eyes like that."

Miriam closed her eyes momentarily and sighed tiredly. "Right, I’d forgotten. Well shite. We need to get him hooked up and I don't know enough about all this not to hurt him. Do you?"

Robin shook his head. "Field dressings are about as far as I go. Here, let me."

He stripped out of his costume, folding it neatly in the center of Miriam's disregarded robes and taking a set of scrubs for himself. "Where's the nurse's station?"

"Back that way, through the first door on the right."

"Stay here."

Moments later a disgruntled nurse came bustling in with a confused and whining Tim on her heels. "I really don't know what happened ma'am, he just showed up. I'm not gonna get in trouble for this am I? Only I mean, I really need this job and I only just started and-"

"Oh do shut up boy," the nurse snapped irritably. "Oh Good Lord, look at this one. Make yourself useful and go fetch some of the other nurses, would you?" Confused Orderly Tim bobbed his head gratefully and scurried back the way he'd come. More nurses began flooding the room. The Joker was hooked up to machines, fluids were supplied and Tim could see the relief spreading over Miriam's face. He sidled over to her and whispered, "We should get out of here while they're otherwise occupied."

Miriam nodded, grabbing his hand, the bundle of their discarded clothes with the other, and headed out the door. They ran into a contingent of guards on the way back and the only thing that saved them was the fact that Marshall led them. He glanced at the two of them, the word "halt" forming on his lips and then did a double-take as he spotted Miriam. He turned part-way toward his men and barked, "double time." They quickened their pace, leaving the three of them alone in the hallway.

"Do I even want to know?"  Marshall asked.

Miriam gave him a feral grin; it sent a shiver down Robin’s spine. "Probably not. Thanks, we knocked out two of your guards. Don't be too hard on them when you're beating them senseless; they were up against the best."

"What?" He glanced at Tim, who shifted so that he was mostly in shadow. "Interesting. I'll go put out the fires then, shall I?"

"That would be spectacular."

"Oi Miriam," Marshall called as they headed away, "Terry's been almost frantic. You're gonna need a good reason about where you've been."

Miriam grimaced. "Great."

They managed to get back to Miriam's study without further incident. Marshall had apparently put out the word that it had been a false alarm.

"Ok, explain," Robin demanded as they locked the door behind them.

Miriam strolled over to her desk, pulling out a paddle brush and tried to work the last of the knots out of her hair.

" _Miriam_."

"Ok, ok. Sit." She gestured with the brush to the couch in her study. He sat stiffly, not knowing what he was going to hear and not sure he wanted to.

"What I told you, about my people, it was all true. I just . . . left out a bit." She sighed sadly, "About sixteen years ago there was a huge shake up, they called it – well those that remember it – called it the Crisis on Infinite Earths. It weakened all the bridges between the different worlds and it really fucked with the warding between this world and that of the Fae. As the danger from the Crisis grew the council of my tribe gathered and decided – a decision that was mostly made on the strength of the argument of the head shaman, Gareth – that they would seek refuge in the world of the Fae. Yeah, I know," she responded to the look on his face, "Really stupid given what I’ve told you about them." She shrugged. "What can I say? Gareth is an idiot. But he’s a charismatic idiot and the council adores him to this day. The Queen of the Fae was more than happy to let us in, of course. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. What she needed – what she’d always needed since they locked her away so long ago – was some way to bridge the wards set up by the first Shamans. One of the only ways she could do this was through the male offspring of an elf and a human.” Miriam hesitated. “I’m not sure of the why really. I never got up the nerve to ask. Among my people breeding with one of the Fae is expressly forbidden. In the old days, anyone even suspected of it was put to death.

"Why?"

"Because of the danger the child would pose. Not just as a bridge to be used by the Queen, but because of what the child would be in and of itself. The Fae are dangerous but stupid. They have the cunning of animals but not the problem solving skills of humans. In other words they have massive amounts of power but not the intelligence to use it effectively. Humans on the other hand are weak, pathetic things as far as the Fae are considered but they are hugely superior in imagination and intelligence. To put the two together . . .” Robin nodded, seeing the problem.  
   
"Now if the Queen could get herself a child she would be able to make a way back in to our world, using the child as a bridge. It would be nice to say that she seduced Gareth but she didn't have to. He was always power hungry and it was a mutual act, he agreed to give her a child and she agreed to share her power with him. In the end neither got what they wanted. The Queen needed a boy, and she didn't get one. Childbirth is almost unknown among the Fae because they live pretty much forever.   Because of that fact they have become a stagnant race. Lhair, the healer of my people’s tribe was called in to help with the birthing. When it was declared that the child was a girl, the Queen demanded that it be destroyed. Furious, she blamed Gareth, accusing him of deceiving her and refused to give him the spells that he'd been promised. Lhair, meanwhile, took the child and hid her. When they returned to the world, she faked a pregnancy and gave 'birth' to a girl. To me." Miriam sighed. "She raised me as her own. I knew soon enough that I wasn't normal. The eyes and ears for one, but the Fae are masters of mind manipulation and it was easy to spin the illusions needed to keep them concealed. My mother taught me the history of her people and mine, she tried to impart to me that it was my choice what I would become, no matter how abhorrent my parentage may be. It worked, for a while. And then, one day, it all fell apart.  Gareth still felt cheated about being robbed of the spells that the Queen had promised him and when he finally figured out who I was, he tried to use me and my mother as a bargaining chip. As I understood it, and,” her eyes slid away “I wasn't thinking too clearly when it was explained to me, they planned to get me so upset that I would fracture the wards on my own in my . .” she took a deeb breath, “ .in my rage. In order to push me to that point they . . ." She squeezed her eyes shut, tears forcing their way out from under her scrunched lids regardless. "They tortured my mum. For . . . for weeks. Time moves dif-differently in the Fae's world. They kept her alive . . ." Miriam trailed off, shoulder heaving silently. She looked up in surprise as Tim wrapped his arms around her.

"Oh God, Oh Miriam. I'm so sorry."

Miriam scrubbed at her face, "I- it's, most of the time I can block it out. But sometimes I can hear them, the screaming. Because it worked, it WORKED, Tim. Goddess, but it worked. I lost it. I went ballistic on my people, they let me out and all I could hear was her voice begging them to… to . . . and then they let me out and I killed them. So many of them, people that I’d grown up with, people that I knew and that . . ." She was sobbing uncontrollably now. "I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't even realize what I . . . what I’d done until it was too late. I don't even know how many people I killed." She looked up at him, eyes blinded with tears. "So . . . so I left. I ran away; I went to London and became a hacker. I buried myself in work and ideas and didn't stop. I don't, we don't – the Fae don't sleep. I worked all the time, slowly the screaming . . . it stopped. And I was able to call my uncle. I thought-" She hiccupped miserably. "I thought he would hate me. He'd left years ago." She smiled through her tears. "He was too much a capitalist for us. But he didn't, he didn't hate me. He should, I’m- it's true. I'm an abomination. The things I can do, Tim.” She shivered violently. “They're terrible. I could make you kill yourself, just by thinking it. I could. And the worst part," she wailed, "is you'd thank me for it. Because, because I can tap into your mind and make you want it. Make you want to die. Make you want to take your life for me. And there is nothing that you could do to stop me. All your training, even Batman maybe, if I get in there and start crashing around . . ." She shook her head wildly. "I don't want it. I don't want to be this way. But no one asked me, they just . . . no one asked me." She trailed off into silence, rocking back and forth in his arms. Tim pulled her very close and stroked her hair.

"You are not abomination.” He whispered, rocking her and wondering if she could even hear him.

When Miriam finally calmed down, she climbed off of his lap and began cleaning up her office. Movements jerky as she came back to herself. She tugged the rug back over the painted circles and started throwing the candles into the trash, she walked over to the window and threw it open to let in some air and then turned to look at Tim.

"How did you get in here?"

"I went to see a friend who knows something about magic."

Miriam regarded him skeptically. "And they gave you what?"

Tim held out the now burnt-looking and expended talismans. Miriam raised an eyebrow. "Good Gods, Tim you should be brain-dead. Don't do that again, yeah?"

Tim's eyebrows went up but he didn't comment. "We should get you home. What are you going to tell them in the morning?"

She glanced over her shoulder, her weird eyes catching the light as she stooped to pick up another candle stub. "Um, that I was abducted by aliens?"

"I doubt it will work."

"I was afraid of that. So plan B then."

“Which is what?”

"Hell if I know, I'm making this up as I go."

Tim reached over and threw another candle in the bag, and then moved towards their discarded stack of clothes. "And you really never sleep?" he asked, slightly muffled as he pulled the tunic over his head.

Miriam licked her lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear the question."

Tim rolled his eyes but he was grinning. "I thought that I wasn't your type?"

She waggled her eyebrows at him. "Do you do casual sex?"

He looked momentarily thoughtful and she laughed. "That’s a no. So you're not, but damn man" She looked him up and down again. "Such a shame."

As they finished cleaning Tim noticed an open circular sore on her neck that hadn't been there before, he grasped her arm gently and brushed her hair back. "When did that happen?"

"What?" She ran her hand over the skin and winced. "Awww, you're wearing it."

His eyebrows knitted. "Wearing what?"

"The necklace I gave you. The only defense against the Fae and mind manipulation is iron. The more pristine, and the more that you wear, the better."

"Why on earth did you give me this?"

"Because you're my friend and I thought you'd find out eventually. I didn't want you to think that I'd been manipulating you the whole time."

Tim was touched. "Thanks."

She smiled at him. "You're welcome." She glanced around the now de-cluttered room, "So, how about a ride home?"

  
   
Unbecoming:  
Chapter Eight

  
<Hey Allen.>

<Oh thank God, Miriam! Where have you been?! Terry's frantic, Bruce wants to call the police, but Marshall’s been saying that there's nothing to worry about . . .>

Miriam waited for him to run out of steam. <Allen.>

<Sorry, sorry.> He cleared his throat. <So are you ok?>

<Yes and no, my father died. I'm back in Denver.>

<Oh Honey, I'm so sorry!>

<It's ok, we weren't that close, but I broke my cell phone on day one and I had no idea what the number was at Arkham. The phone lines have been down out here because of a storm. My parents live in the middle of nowhere and it's been really hard to get away. This is a first time that I've been able to call, I'm sorry for the scare.>

<No, no sweetie. Jesus, your dad died, I think we can cut you some slack. When will you be back?>

<Tomorrow, the next day at the latest. So there weren't any emergencies that you guys couldn't handle?>

She could hear him flipping through papers. <No, not really. Like I said, Terry was going insane and Bruce keeps calling. The Joker was admitted to the infirmary last night and nobody is really sure how he got there. Marshall’s been doing more sweeps and swearing at everyone.>

Miriam sighed. <Ok, put me through to Marshall please.>

Miriam doodled on her hand waiting for the call to be put through. She checked herself in the mirror again and sighed, _stupid eyes_. When Marshall answered she asked without preamble,  <So why are you yelling at your men?>

<Miriam> he barked, <Who the hell was the kid with you last night? He dropped my men like a couple of rookies!>

Miriam rolled her eyes. <Then train them better, that's not my problem. Beyond that, how's security?>

<Fine,> he replied peevishly

<Glad to hear it.> And then mostly to piss him off, she added, <It would seem that we have a possible entry point in the infirmary.>

<I'm on it.> Marshall ground out. She laughed silently at his offended tone. 

She ought to get Robin to try to break in on a regular basis to test security, it would keep things interesting.  She made a note in her planner and said <Good, now transfer me to the infirmary.> Ah, damage control.

<Hello, Nurse Alice Ingram speaking, how may I help you?>

<Alice, this is Dr. Miriam Alexander.>

<Dr. Alexander! Yes ma'am, what can I do for you?>

<I hear that you had an unexpected visit from the Joker last night.>

<Yes Ma'am.> She coughed nervously. <I'm just not sure how he got in here. Marshall’s people found a small hole in the ceiling but there's no way that he came through there! He’s suffering from mild dehydration and he's been out like a light.>

<That's fine. Alice, I want you to keep him in an induced coma for the next few days until I can get there and take a look at him, ok?>

<Um…> Miriam could hear the uncertainty in her voice and hardened her own. <Alice, I'm not overly fond of homicidal psychiatric patients turning up in my infirmary without an explanation. I want to make sure that he hasn't sustained any lasting damage, do you understand?>

<Yes, ma'am,> she replied hurriedly. <Of course, induced coma. I'll let the doctors know right away. Do you have a number where we can get in touch with you if there are any problems?>

Miriam hesitated. <Um, no, not yet. I'm on a pay phone actually, long story. I'll try to check back later tonight.>

She hung up and collapsed back on her bed. Well, that had gone ok. Tim was supposed to be stopping by later to take her out for food. He seemed to think she wouldn't eat unless he was watching her. She grinned up at the ceiling. Could have been much worse and the hard part for her was over. Unfortunately the hard part for the Joker was just beginning.  
   
* * *  
   
The Joker blinked sleepily, as the room swirled into focus. Where was he? This didn't look like his cell. He glared muzzily at the bed next to him. Nope, didn't recognize him. He tried to sit up and felt the extremely unpleasant tug of any amount of needles pulling at his skin.

"Shit!" He was shocked by the rough condition of his voice, gravely and barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Um, hello?"

There was no answer but the steady beeping of the monitors. He glanced to his left and saw a vase of rather ridiculous purple flowers and a small card. He reached out gingerly for the card and smiled at the small smiley face drawn on the front. The inside read, "Morning sunshine. There's a phone taped under the table, when you feel up to it give me a call and I'll bring you up to speed."

He placed the card back on the table; his head dropping back to the pillow. So . . .it worked then? He poked mentally at the back of his brain with reluctance. He didn’t experience any sudden revelations, he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He took another look around the room and was surprised to find how blurry it was. He didn't remember his eyes being this bad. Maybe something had happened while he'd been in the trance? They had done the trace thing right? He tried to remember. He remembered the shower; he remembered lying down and then . . . nothing. He wondered what day it was. He looked futilely from the limited confines of his bed for a calendar but couldn't see anything. Whether that was due to his sudden myopia or the lack of calendars he didn't know. He thought about the phone and tried to weight how curious he was versus how tired. Finally he shrugged. The world could wait. He turned over and went back to sleep.

When he woke again, the lights in the room were on and white-clad nurses were bustling back and forth between beds. When one of them realized that he was awake she made a small noise and took a step back. Ah, a fan. He grinned evilly up at her and she squeaked again backing away. Seriously, he would never get tired of that. He propped himself up, mindful of the needles this time, and tested his voice. "Hello sweet stuff, do you think you could see your way clear to getting me a glass of water?"

The nurse quailed, turned and fled. Well, that was off to a good start then. He glanced around before fumbling on the underside of the table. He found the phone and the tiny note on the phone

"Hit redial." Which he did. It rang once and then Miriam’s voice sounded on the other end of the line.

"Hello there. And how are we feeling?"

"Like a pincushion. How long have I been out?"

"About three and a half weeks."

"Three and a half weeks!" the Joker yelped. He glanced around quickly to see if anyone had come into the room and then hissed, "Good Lord, woman what did you do to me?"

"I fixed you. It just took a bit longer than I thought it would. Do us all a favor and stay away from vats of acid."

"I'll work on that," he responded dryly as he ran a hand though his hair, the curls feeling ridiculously long, "Should my vision be all fuzzy?"

"It's been fuzzy; you were just too preoccupied to notice."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You’ve always had bad vision, but you weren’t sane enough to notice. Or care. So other than that how are you feeling?"

"Like I could spit cotton. And my legs hurt."

"You've been in bed for almost a month. It'll happen. I'm on my way."

By the time Miriam had reached the infirmary, the Joker was feeling more than irritable; it was all well and good that the staff was terrified of him but he really did want something to drink, damn it. And no one would take the damn needles out. He'd tried tugging on them himself but had given it up very quickly.

"I see you've been making friends," Miriam remarked sweetly.

"Whatever, just get me out of here."

She turned to one of the nurses and asked, "Could you be so good as to unhook him?"

The nurse nodded, eyes skittering from Miriam to the Joker and moved quickly to remove the needles, flinching every time the Joker made a noise of pain. Once free Miriam helped him into a wheel chair and headed out the door.

*

"So, am I fixed?"

Miriam nodded as she poured him a glass of water. They were back in the Counseling room; the Joker sprawled on the couch. "Yup."

"I don't feel any different. Well beyond needing a shower and a haircut."

Miriam smiled at him. "Don't gulp that or you'll just throw it back up. And you're not supposed to feel different, remember you like you."

"Right, right, but shouldn't I be all 'whooooo.'" He made wobbly motions with his arms made all the more realistic from the slight tremors that shivered through them from lack of use. "And reeling from the weight of my life crashing back down on me?"

Miriam chuckled, "We're doing the 'whooo lite' version."

"Oh." He scratched his head. "So now what?"

"Well, I thought I'd let you have a crack at that shower and I want you to have a couple sessions with the physical therapist and then we'll start meeting again."

"Can't you just wiggle your nose or something?"

"Nope. And you're not allowed to torment the physical therapist."

"You know, you take all the fun out of life."

*

The Joker was making his wobbly way down the parallel bars, watched by his physical therapist, Joe, whom he had dubbed The Bastard after their first session. He was coming to the conclusion that Joe, The Bastard, was a closet sadist. As a fellow sadist the Joker had to, if grudgingly, give the guy points for creativity. He had never even considered trying to pass off his own torture as good for one’s health. And this was legal. Crazy world.   

"All right Joker, we'll call a halt for a bit." Joe, The Bastard, tossed a towel at him.

As the Joker took a seat on the bench, his legs trembling, he glanced up to see Twoface –scratch that Harvey – working the weights with one of the other trainers. Well, well. Miriam had been busy. Harvey looked good, there was absolutely no scarring. It looked like the trainer was helping Harvey to regain muscle tone. When she gave him a break for a moment, he spotted the Joker and came over and took a seat.

"Joker."

"Well hello there Harvey. You look good."

Harvey took a swig out of his water bottle, "Thanks. So how are you doing? I heard that you had a spell in the infirmary yourself."

"Yeah." He stretched and chortled. "But I’m getting over it. You know me, knock me down and I’ll bounce right back for more. Do you know if they've let Harl out yet?"

Harvey shrugged disapprovingly. "No clue. I've never been one for gossip."

Liar. "Oh right, I’d forgotten. We'll if you happen upon her give her my best. I've got a feeling that we won't be doing much in the way of conversing for a long while."

"I did hear that they got Ivy back in." Harvey’s eye twitched as it always did when he was talking about the ex-love of his life and the Joker giggled.  
   
"Ooooo Harvey you are going to have to let that go at some point, it was years ago now." The Joker was studiously avoiding Joe, The Bastard's, eye, because he was trying to wave him back towards the mat. He turned back to Harvey. "So, when are they going to be letting you out, do you think?"

Harvey smiled for the first time since he'd sat down. "Soon, real soon in fact. Bruce is coming by later. We're gonna talk about housing options. Apparently Miriam's gonna have some kind of recovery system beyond Arkham and Bruce is offering to put me up for a while in one of his houses out of town."

"Ooo, goodie." Finally unable to ignore Joe, The Bastard, any longer, the Joker heaved himself back towards the mat. "Seriously Joe, you get way too much out of this."

Joe just grunted and pointed towards the handlebars. "Set of twenty, go."  
   
* * *  
   
The Joker, now fully mobile again, was sitting on the counseling couch in the session room, twirling a noise maker and waiting for Miriam to make her appearance.

“So how are we this morning?” The Joker jumped, not having heard her come in.“Ah, well that answers that question.”  
   
Surprising him she took a seat next to him on the couch rather than opposite him, it made him aware of how small she was and he felt compelled to ask again. “How old are you anyway?” But instead of waiting for her to answer he answered for her, “Fifteen.” He looked stunned. “Um . . . how do I know that?”

Miriam sighed. “You remember my bragging about my superiority with mental wards?” The Joker nodded. “Well that’ll teach me to test the Gods. The damage was much more elaborate than I’d estimated, and in trying to get all of it I had to let most of my wards go so that I could concentrate fully on you. In the process things . . . leaked a bit. You’ve learned about me as I have of you. Things are going to get . . . interesting very shortly.”

“Oh goodie.”

“Exactly. Now we’re going to start a type of trance reversal. It’s kind of like a type of hypnosis, you’ll be fully conscious of what you’re seeing but you’ll be at distance from it. Hopefully that will help to ease the emotional shock. Ready?”

The Joker took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He closed his eyes briefly and then nodded once. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in the office any more. He was in front of a house. It was huge, white with black shutters. He knew the house. It had belonged to his parents. His parents, who were moving up the walk, his mother’s hand hovering protectively over her swelling belly, his father, concerned but reserved at her side. They were arguing. He only caught bits and pieces and it was then that he realized that was because he, as a small child with – Good Lord had he ever been that color? – dark hair and eyes and the unhealthy gleam of pale – but not bleached – skin, was watching from the front porch. His parent’s voices were pitched low on purpose to keep him from hearing.

“Don’t care what he says Michael. I’m not having the boys raised like that.”

“. . . tradition Joyce . . . .”

“Don’t you give me that . . . . . . . .look what it’s done . . . . you and Frank!”

“Later. Jack! There’s my little man. How’s the house, burn anything down?”

The Joker watched himself leap into action, throwing his small, stick-like arms around his father who hugged him happily. Joker felt the echo of the emotions, almost too far off to feel but there. Love, and joy. Pride and admiration. He had loved his father very much. The Joker squinted at the older man’s face. It was heavily lined, gray hair had begun to invade the temples and there was a faint wheeze when he spoke that heralded the nascent onset of emphysema.

“Let’s get your mother into the house.” His father turned towards his mother, a plain woman who compensated for her lack with accruements. She was practically dripping diamonds; the fur stole thrown over her shoulders had the shine of the freshly purchased. But it was clear, through the expensive and artfully applied cosmetics, that she was deeply unhappy. She turned away from her husband and son once they were inside to rest on the couch in the drawing room. The Joker glanced around, drinking in the once familiar sights. He remembered that couch.  The velvet had always felt so decadent on his small hands. Once he pretended that he was a king and that was his throne. Another time he’d spilled juice on it and his mother had had a fit.

His bedroom was up the stairs and to the right; it would be covered in drawings that he had made at school. The rug on the floor in the their living room was where he had played cowboys and Indians with his father, the rug that was supposedly from one of his uncle's hunting trips . . . his uncle. Ghosts stirred, and the memory of a huge man with a fat cigar sticking out of his face swirled up from the depths. Partners. His father and uncle, the Napier Brothers, had been partners in the . . .oh God, in the mafia. He watched the familiar scene with a growing sense of dread. His life flipped by him as the memories flooded back. The playhouse in the garden where they had buried his pet turtle. The black maid, Samantha, who had made him ice cream sandwiches in a bowl every Sunday after church. The preschool where he’d had his first fist fight because someone had called his dad a word he didn’t understand and later when he’d asked his mother she’d had to leave the room.

Life flipped forward and suddenly he was standing outside his father’s study, the golden light from within spilling out in a narrow strip to illuminate the deep red carpet. Voices were raised in anger, his father was shouting at someone. There was the sound of a gunshot and then everything went very still. He’d stayed were he was, unable to move, and had watched as his uncle and a group of other large men in suits emerged from the room. They headed upstairs to where his mother had been sleeping, her screaming echoed on and on and on. Jack scrunched up as small as he could, bracing his hands over his ears, trying to block out the sound but he couldn’t, it went on and on, until all the house was screaming. It had taken him some time to realize that the house was actually on fire. He’d crawled towards his father’s study but he was stopped halfway as he was picked up bodily and carried from the house. He’d screamed and screamed for them to put him down, to help his father but they wouldn’t listen. They just kept going; kept walking and then the flames were growing higher . . .

“Easy Joker. It’s ok,” Miriam voice sounded over the flames, dimming them. He pulled back slightly, disengaging from the screaming torment that had racked him and took a deep, uneven breath. “Do you want to go on?” She asked.

He wanted to but he didn’t think that he could, he shook his head soundlessly and the inferno melted back in the council room. He was shocked to see that it was still light outside. When he was sure that he could trust his voice he asked, “Did you see what I saw?”

Miriam nodded.

He blinked rapidly. “And all these years I’ve been telling people . . .” He blew out a breath and thumped his head back on the couch. “I loved them.” It was a surprise. He hadn’t really thought he was capable of the emotion. He’d heard about it, supposedly seen it in others. Harley professed to love him, but he had never, experience anything on his end that could be classified as love. Until just now.

“Thank you.” He said very quietly, “For giving that back to me.”  
   
* * *  
   
“I understand that Harvey Dent is to be released soon?”

“Yes,” Miriam agreed without turning around. She’d put a distance ward on the damn window so she knew when they were coming.

“Do you think he’s ready?”

Miriam rolled her eyes mentally, you should know, she thought, you were only just here helping with the set up. But all she said was, “If I didn’t think he was ready then I wouldn’t be releasing him, now would I?”

“You could be doing it for the publicity.”

She laughed, turning around to face him finally. “Yes that’s right. I took this job for the glamour.” She made a moue of distaste. This double persona was starting to get on her nerves. “What is it that you want, Batman?”

“You’re not from Denver.”

“My birth certificate says otherwise.”

“True, but your speech pattern is wrong.”

She shrugged. “My father was in the military.”

“You’re lying.”

She rolled her eyes. “My gods, the hypocrisy. We all have our secrets.”

“They have a lot of polytheists out in Denver?”

Miriam blinked and then realizing her mistake shrugged. “I rebelled as a child. It stuck. Thank you for bringing Ivy back in. Do you have an ETA for Clayface?”

“No.”

“You have more experience with him than most, would you be able to devise a holding system for him? I’ve got some ideas of my own but I always love a second opinion.”

“I have some ideas.”

“Wonderful. We’ll do lunch.” Finally, growing tired of the terse banter, she asked, “Don’t you find it exhausting?”

“What?” he asked warily

“Having to be so unapproachable all the time.”

“It comes with the cape.”

“It doesn’t have to. I’ve met other Capes. You’ve got walls three feet thick. Do you even remember what human contact feels like?”

“Stick to your patients Doctor.” He pulled a grapple gun out of his belt and fired off a shot, swinging out into the night.

Well, Miriam mused, at least I know how to get rid of him.

Unbecoming:  
Chapter Nine

The Joker swallowed down the taste of bile in his mouth and tried to remember to breathe. It had been a week since the last session. More memories had returned, but there seemed to be an unspoken cutoff point ending with the fire. The Joker assumed that was Miriam-induced rather than accidental.

“So how are things here at Arkham?” the Joker asked as Miriam entered the room.

Her eyebrows went up. “Fine. Why?”

“Really? I’m stalling, but I am curious to know how you’re doing.”

“Things are fantastic actually. After my spectacular bit of mismanagement concerning you, things have settled down quite nicely. Harvey will be released in a matter of days, Terry is furious that I won’t let her announce it.” Miriam smiled. “Harleen is already in her new home and even has a job.”

“Seriously? What?”

Miriam grinned. “Cosmetics.”

The Joker hooted with laughter, it was the same laugh that he’d always had or that he’d had since he took a swan dive into a vat of steaming acid anyway. He found it reassuring.

“So ready?”

“Yeah, sure.”  
   
It came faster this time, he watched the fading form of the fire as his small self was whisked away to the police station, where he gives, unchanging, the story of his Uncle and the bad men who killed his father. He is soundly ignored. The police are in the pocket of the mafia. Thomas Wayne, who will become the first savior of the city through his generosity and later his death is only sixteen years old. There is no Batman, this is Old Gotham, and little Jack is very much on his own. The Joker wants to hit someone as he watches his Uncle saunter into the room. He watches as Jack screams and runs towards the policeman, who does nothing. Jack, as the sole heir to his father’s wealth becomes his uncle's ward. The Joker watches with growing nausea as he is shuttered into a small room in the rotting house on Bourbon Street where his uncle lives. He listens at the door as they crack jokes about raping his mother to death and how much she screamed. What is left of his father’s house is sold to pay off his uncle's gambling debts. And then the pain begins. His uncle has a favorite belt; the buckle is almost two inches in length, heavy steel. The Joker realizes that the faded scar that he has on the back of his left leg is a remnant of one of its many applications. The belt is employed almost daily as Jack is beaten into submission. His health, never the best, becomes even worse. Life takes on a patina of pain, years pass, one blurring into another. He suffers from bronchitis and pneumonia almost continually. The Joker feels numb as he watches himself become weaker and sicker until he is unable to fight off his Uncle any longer, his spirit is broken. He stops speaking; he does what he’s told. At sixteen he begins to work for the Mafia that killed his parents. He holds guns, unfeelingly, on sobbing men and women as their homes are ransacked and set ablaze like his was, their live destroyed. As the mafia wars that rocked Gotham begin to escalate he takes to gun-running, working to arm the contingents of his Uncle’s mafia around the city. But the city is changing, Thomas Wayne is helping to buy back the city, the police are starting to crack down and the infighting between the mafias allows them the opportunity. Jack’s uncle becomes preoccupied and his vigilance lapses, Jack is allowed, unexpectedly, some breathing room.

The club is called the Rocket. It’s one of the classier dives that his Uncle’s mafia ‘protects.’ Jack has taken to haunting the back rows in hopes of seeing Her again. She is beautiful, one of the lounge singers, with long blond hair and huge blue eyes. Her laughter is warm and inclusive unlike that of his uncle and his cronies. It is also contagious. When he met her, several weeks back, after she had finished singing for the night, she had laughed at the joke he made. He had felt alive for the first time in years. He brought her flowers the next night, they were horrible and half dead and looked ridiculous next to the bouquets that were spilling over in her dressing room but she had been ecstatic. A week later he had gotten up the courage to ask her to dinner. They had made love the same night. It was his first time.

They became inseparable, she was his world. His heart reborn. And when Gotham City was rocked by the death of Thomas and Martha Wayne, Jack found the courage, at seventeen, to leave his uncle. He and Jeannie moved in together, he worked two jobs and she, having lost her job at the Rocket due to Jack’s rebellion, began working at one of the factories.

Jeannie was 5 months pregnant when his uncle showed up on his doorstep three years later. His uncle had lost weight, his suit hung on him badly and his head was entirely gray but his eyes were just as cruel. He hadn’t changed. The Joker watched the shock and outrage on his own face that the man had dared to show up on his doorstep, when he’d tried to close the door his Uncle had shoved his foot in the way.

“There is a job I need you to pull,” his uncle said by way of greeting.

“Fuck you old man. You got everything from me that you’re ever gonna get.”

Jack was taller than him now, the belt no longer posed the threat that it once had, but there are other levers that can be pulled. Jeannie called from the kitchen, “Who is it sweetie?”

“Wrong house,” he called back not taking his eyes of his Uncle.

“No sonny, it ain’t the wrong house. And you’re gonna help me because if you don’t that cute little thing in there is gonna go meet your mother. And they’ll be able to compare notes,” he added with a leer.

Jack saw red, this was not happening. “If you lay a hand on her I‘ll-“

“You’ll nothin’ runt because I’ve still got the coppers running scared. I’ve got a job, you’re gonna help.”

Jack hesitated, this was his fault. If anything happened to Jeannie it would be his fault. He couldn’t let that happen. She was the only good thing that had ever happened to him. He wouldn’t let him hurt her.

“What job?”

“That’s a good boy. There’s a chemical warehouse about three miles from here, we’re using it to make a drop tonight. I want you there to make sure that everything goes as planned.”

What Jack didn’t know yet, but would by the end of the evening, was that there was a leak in his Uncle’s mafia, this was an attempt to plug it up, and Jack was being offered up as a scapegoat. He went back inside to get his coat and Jeannie confronted him in the hall way.

“Where are you going?”

He had never been able to lie to her, so he didn’t try. “My uncle needs me to pull a job.”

Her eyes went wide. “Jack no!”

“I have to! He says that he’ll hurt you and the baby if I don’t. This is it, this is the last time.”

She followed him to the coat closet. “I wish you wouldn’t do this. There has to be another way. We could leave Gotham, or- there has to be something!” And the Joker, watching, felt something twist in his gut.

He hugged her, mindful of her belly. “This is it I swear but I have to go.”

“Please Jack, don’t do this. I love you too much to see you start down this road again.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.” He kissed her. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Things had gone wrong very quickly. The police had showed up much too soon, the shooting had started and Jack found himself on a catwalk when the railing suddenly gave way. He was plunged head first into the vat below him, and the pain took his breath away. He clawed uselessly at the acrid liquid as it ate into his eyes and his ears and his brain. There was an explosion that rocked the vat, heaving it up onto its side so that it spilled out over the floor. Jack was washed towards the center of warehouse, where the roof had been blown off. His skin hissed as rain poured down on him, steam rising from the now horribly scarred surface. He staggered to his feet, falling to his knees twice before managing to remain standing. His vision returned, tunneled and then faded out again, his neurons feeding back sensations that weren’t actually there. He thought that he saw his father for a moment, and then he saw Jeannie, holding a dish rag. Jeannie. He had to get home to Jeannie. He stumbled towards the warehouse doors, sliding in the muck underneath. Clearly the memory of how he made it home was lost for good because the scene shifted and the Joker watched as he banged suddenly into his own living room, bleached skin shining ghostly in the moonlight. He tried to call for Jeannie but his voice cracked, jumping it up two octaves, to the voice that the Joker now recognized as his own. He found Jeannie in a pool of blood in the living room, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. He’d screamed at her to get up, shaking her over and over again. And then he started to laugh. And he kept laughing. He laughed on and on and on. He was still laughing when the police came to his house that night. He’d grabbed up one of their batons and beaten them to death, smile not wavering as blood flecked his face. Then he’d gone to his uncle’s, hair still dripping acid and laughed, holding him at gun point, as he recounted the events of the night. And then, still laughing, he had pulled the trigger.

The Joker surfaced from the memory, tears running down his face. He realized that Miriam was hugging him and he just gripped her harder. They stayed that way for a very long time.  
   
* * *  
   
“I’m ready to being my work on North America. I’ve estimated that it should take the next six months. After that I will run the last series and we will be ready to implement the virus. It will take seventy-two hours to lock down the entire planet. After that time there will be no way to restart any computer once infected.” The voice was calm now, collected, assured of success, the only hint that there was any unease was the slight tremors to the gloved hands.

“Excellent. And this will prevent all use of electronic equipment?” This was a new voice, hidden in the shadows.

Nodding, the voice of the gloved hands continued. “It will have a cumulative effect. It will take approximately three months for everything to grind to a complete halt but the difficulties encountered may speed up the process. For example, petrol will still be available, but they will be unable to pump it electronically because the system will have locked up but they can still pour it, manually, into their vehicles. Eventually, however, they will run out of accessible petrol. It will remain locked in petrol pumps, refineries and pipe lines, due to the lack of functional technology to extract it. The tapering affect, rather than allowing them time to create a counter strategy, will create a horde mentality, causing further deterioration.”

“And there is truly no countermeasure?” the new voice asked.

“The virus was created, and subsequently banned, strictly for that purpose. Once enacted there is absolutely nothing that can stop it, no countermeasure that can be taken. It was designed that way.”

“Wonderful.”  
   
* * *  
   
The Joker lay in his bed and tried to feel something other than numb. He had know that it was going to be bad, nothing that ends with a swim in a vat of acid ends well, but he hadn’t thought . . . He shook his head, apparently he hadn’t done a lot of thinking for a very long time. He wasn’t quite sure what to do now. Impulse control or not he would have gone out and shot his uncle but unfortunately, he’d done that already. Miriam had told him that was a more than normal reaction to the situation and it didn’t mean that he was relapsing; he’d take her word for it. Miriam. That was another thing. With the conclusion of his story, hers had begun to seep through. At first he’d though he was going crazy as figures dressed in weird robes and masks started parading through his mind, but once he’d explained what was going on Miriam had, very quietly, explained that he was now getting to watch her life in surround sound. By the end he’d taken a baseball bat to every conceivable surface in the gymnasium, still, every time he saw her, the anger swelled again and he needed to go breathe deeply for awhile before he could be civil to anyone.

“You look perplexed.”

The Joker, who was hanging off his bed upside down, glanced towards the front of his cell to find Miriam leaning against it.

“Really? Because I was going for pensive.”

“Ah, my mistake then.” Her face softened. “So how are you doing?”

He scrunched up his face in return. “I don’t know. You sure that I can’t go kill everyone over in Wales?”

“Very.”

“Well then, I’m disappointed by your lack of follow through.” She paled and he sat up quickly. “Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

She shook her head. “It's ok. I know what you meant.”

“No, no, it is not ok. I’m really sorry.”

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

The Joker looked nonplussed. “Um, is this some new way of asking me if I want to go sleep with the fishes? Because if so I really am sorry.”

Miriam laughed. “No. I’m asking if you want to go for a walk.”

“What like, outside with trees and things?”

“Yes, exactly.”

He shrugged. “Ok, sure.”  
   
   
*

“I don’t think that I’ve ever been out here.” They were walking around a track in the back of Arkham; it was set well back from the road and was actually quite peaceful.

“You wouldn’t have done. It hasn’t been used in years, and it was only ever for low security prisoners.”

He glanced down at her where she was walking by his side. “Not me then.”

“Nope.”

“So am I no longer considered high security?”

“Are you going to run away?”

“You said that the place was warded.”

“It is. That’s not what I asked.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “You know I’m not going to run away woman. Where the hell would I go?”

“That’s what I like to hear in my patients, resigned defeat.”

He smacked her in the arm, and she laughed. They were quiet for a moment longer and the he said, “Do you really think that I’ll be able to leave?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “Yes, of course. Did you think I was lying?”

“Part of me isn’t sure that I don’t belong here.”

“Joker-"

He didn’t give her time to respond. “I’m going to need a new name at the very least.”

Miriam nodded sympathizing. “We’ll put it on the to do list.”

That made him laugh. “There’s a list?”

“Mmm, a rather long one. But seriously, you don’t belong here anymore than I do.”

“Now see that’s cheating.”

“No, it’s true.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, “I don’t know how much 'impulse control' I’ve actually got M, I really wanted to go kill my uncle and those bastards in Wales. I still would if you’d let me. I think that it might be safest all around if I just stayed here.” Miriam hugged him. It was so unexpected that he nearly fell over. “Oooo-kay. What was that for?”

“You’re empathizing and making motive -based logical arguments, Joker! You realize that you couldn’t do that before. That means that you are well.”

“Ok, because I want to go kill people, I’m well. I think you’ve been out in the sun too long. We need to get you a hat or something.” He glanced around like he was expected a hat to fall from the sky. “Never around when you need them.”

“You have a temper. That’s fine. You are allowed to have a temper. You are allowed to react with anger and outrage when horrible things are done to yourself and the people you care about. But now your killings would be motive-based rather than random, that’s an argument for a purely rational and sane killing. Not good, but it means that you are sane. As for the lack of impulse control, it is my opinion that you feel that you can still go kill because there are no consequences for you. You feel that you have nothing to lose because you believe that everything that you have has been taken from you already. So I’m going to do something very unprofessional. I’m going to ask you, as my friend, for me, not to kill people ever again."

The Joker stared at her, mouth hanging open. He closed it and slid one arm around her in a sideways hug, nodding once. “Fair enough. You make me the same deal.”

She looked surprised but nodded. “No more, ever again.”

“Deal.”

“So,” He asked after a moment, “What number are we up to on the to do list?”

She stared off into space for a moment, “Get him to promise not to kill people any more . . . um I think that was twenty seven?”

“Oh, good, I’m glad to see we’re making progress. So what’s next?”

“Find him a job.”

“Ah.”

*

They had the Classifieds spread out over three tables in her office, Miriam was sipping coffee and the Joker was squinting fuzzily at the tiny print.

“For the last time, go see the eye doctor.”

“I don’t need glasses,” he replied stubbornly

Miriam rolled her eyes and picked up yet another copy of the classifieds. “How about dental hygienist?”

“You have to go to school for that M.”

“Well you can go to school while you’re in here, I explained that already.”

“I am not going to spend the rest of my life sticking my hands down people’s throats.”

“Well, what do you like doing?”

“Gassing city blocks,” the Joker replied distractedly as he tried to figure out where he’d put the last of his bagel.

“Ha. Ha. I’m serious, what about being the Joker did you enjoy the most?”

“I don’t know M, the chase I guess. There you are, you little bastard.”He exclaimed at his bagel.

“You could become a detective.”

“What, like a cop?”

“Maybe not a cop, you could be a private detective.”

“Nah, I like to be the one doing the plotting, ya know? I’d be half tempted to start pulling the idiots over and giving them tips. Let’s stay away from the crime syndicate, yah? Best to make a clean break.”

“I love it when you talk all rational at me.” She made moon eyes at him and he threw a napkin at her.

“And a free napkin as well. Day just keeps getting better. Ok, no crime stuff, so what else, you liked the chase, what else were you good at?”

“Making stuff blow up.”

“You could work in demolition.”

He grinned at her. “Blow stuff up for a living?”

“Sure, people do it.”

“I could have an act, ‘see this building demolished by the Joker.’”

“I think we’re going to try and stay away from the Joker angle.”

“Think it’ll be hard to get me hired?”

“Just a tad.”

The Joker glanced back at the paper in his hand and let out a whistle. “Hey M, you don’t have stock in Triver and Sons?”

“No? Uh... why?”

“Because they just announced that they’re going to start a partnership with MeryLanders Labs and I know for a fact that they use tetrachlorahydrates in their compounds.” He glanced up to see Miriam staring at him in complete bewilderment. “What?” He asked, confused at her confusion.

“The words are coming out, they’re all in English, I just haven’t got a clue what you’ve just said to me.”

“Oh, sorry. MeryLanders is a chemical company that uses sketchy ingredients to make its stock.”

“How on earth do you know all that?”

“Are you kidding? I’m, like, the king of acid, baby. You don’t get dumped in a vat of it and not learn a few things.” She just looked at him and he sighed. “Fine. Spoilsport. Seriously though, there wasn’t anything that I wouldn’t mess with. Desensitization, I’ve learned a lot over the years. How do you think I got so good at gassing city blocks?”

“What about that then? Would you want to work in the chemical industry? You could become a licensed chemist and everything. Designer drugs, experimental science, the possibilities are endless and it pays really bloody well.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “Yeah. I could do that, actually that doesn’t sound half bad.”

Miriam pulled her laptop closer, keys clacked for a moment and then she got up indicating that he should take a seat. He squinted at the screen and she hit him in the back of the head. “Eye Doctor.”

“I’m fine. What is this?”

“This is a PhD exit exam for chemistry. I want you to give it a shot. We’ll get it graded and then see where we need to go from there.”

There was a knock on the door. The Joker looked at her with wide eyes and she waved at him mouthing “don’t move.”

“Come in.”

Terry Margo entered, a stack of papers in her hands, she glanced briefly at the chair where the Joker was sitting and then skipped to the mess of papers. “Looking for a new job?”

“What- oh no, actually I’m looking for the Joker.”

“Good luck with that.”

Miriam chuckled. “Thank you. So what can I do for you Terry?”

“Miriam, you’re killing me here. Can I please announce that we’ve been able to release Harvey Dent?”

Miriam smiled at her. “Actually, I can do you one better. Harvey has agreed to do a long distance interview for the press. So not only can you make the announcement you can have him there on television looking all sane and healthy.”

“Really? Oh, thank God!” She collapsed into one of the chairs. “I had this horribly elaborate speech planned out where I was going to try and convince you. . .” She shook her head. “When can we do it?”

“Well apparently Harvey has gone and gotten himself a press agent; Allen has her number. You can get in touch with her and get things rolling. I leave it in your very capable hands.”

“You’re wonderful!”

“Yes I know. Now shoo, I’ve got to get back to saving the world here.”

“That is so strange,” the Joker said once the door was shut.

“What? That Harvey wants to have a press conference?”

“Are you kidding? Harvey’s always been a media slut. No, that I was right here and she couldn’t see me!”

“Just take your test, you dork.”

*

<Hey,” Miriam said into the phone as she waved the Joker to a seat, <I’ve got to go. No, the Joker just got here for his session. Really? Yeah sure, but I thought you had the Teen Titians thing. Really? Trouble in paradise? Ok, it’s a date then. Are you coming here or did you want to meet somewhere? Right, I’ll see you then.> She hung up the phone and glanced over at the Joker who was staring at her.

“Who the hell do you know in the Teen Titans?”

“Robin.”

“You’re friends with Robin?”

“Mmhmm. He’s a really good guy. I’ve told you about this.”

“Oh. That’s right. I’d forgotten. You’re not dating him, are you?”

She laughed, “Why would it matter?”

“I just can’t picture any of the bat-children being all that great as dating companions. The apple doesn’t fall that far from the tree, you know.”

“For your information Robin is nothing like Batman, but no, I’m not dating him. I’m pretty sure that he has other interests, I just don’t think he’s figure them out yet.”

“You read his mind? That’s just cold woman.”

“No I didn’t read his mind. I’m basing this purely off of women’s intuition. Now, enough about my non-relationships. I’ve got your test results back. You did amazingly well which opens up all sorts of options for us.” He was quiet for a moment. “I can hear you thinking over there."

"Miriam, how am I going to get a job? Really? No one in his right mind is going to hire me."

"Like I said, we're going to avoid the Joker angle."

"Which would be great except for,“ he waved his hand indicating his arm, "I'm kinda hard to miss."

"Ah, but I have a way around that as well."

“Oh?”

“Well sure. You know the illusion I told you about?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I can create a talisman that will do the same thing for you.  I'm gonna doll you up so that even Batman won't be able to recognize you and then we'll unleash you out onto the world." A smile split his face and he launched himself at her, grabbing her and swinging her around. "Ahhh, no! Put me down. No, no, no put me down you crazy clown person." She wobbled slightly as he obliged. "Goddess, I'm gonna be sick. Ooo, don't do that." She glared at him, he was still grinning like an idiot and she had to smile. "But there are limitations on what amulets and illusions can do."

"Such as?"

"Cameras. Any type of still picture, if you're caught on film, they'll see the real you not the illusion. S'why I've been so camera-shy since coming here. The illusion needs a brain to work on, it can't fool a machine."

"That could be a problem if I’m working in a high security area."

She shrugged. "We'll jump off that bridge when we come to it. I could try healing the physical damage done by the acid, but we've already put your body through a lot. Best to give it a bit of a rest."

"Ok, so now what?"

"Now? Now you are going to go away and do your homework."

"Come again?"

"Papers. I need twenty to twenty-five papers, on" she waved a hand at him, "science-y things. Pick a specialty. Write papers on it."

“‘Science-y things.’ That's a technical term is it?"

"Oh shut up. Here." She handed him a leather satchel. "That has a laptop with wireless internet access, I’ve preloaded about fifty peer reviewed journal articles, read through them, write, to the best of your ability something similar.  Once you’re done we’ll get a ghost writer to look it over and then go from there, now shoo."

He rolled his eyes but humored her, strolling down the corridor back to his cell. He propped the laptop open on his bed, glancing at the newspaper in his hand. There was something that he failed to mention to Miriam about MeryLanders Labs. They had double-crossed him once upon a time, going behind his back to work a deal with the Penguin when they were supposed to be supplying him. He grinned maliciously. Sometimes payback really is a bitch.

END


End file.
